


Dreams of the High Frontier: To Slip the Surly Bonds

by tlong0038



Category: Original - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlong0038/pseuds/tlong0038
Summary: The story of the space age from the birth of Robert Goddard to the launch of Sputnik.





	1. Chapter 1

Knossos, Crete

The Aegean Sea,

2,500 BC

The body of the Minotaur was still cooling as Daedalus and Icarus ran down the passage. Torches flickered in crude bronze brackets on the walls. The crudely carved stone walls echoed with the slap of sandalled feet.

“Hurry, my son,” panted Daedalus, “we must escape the Labyrinth before the King discovers what we have done.” He hefted the ball of string in his hand, feeling the thread running through his fingers as he ran. Somewhere behind them, they could hear shouts and cursing echoing off of the rough stone. They kept running. They had been plotting their escape for months, ever since they had helped Theseus escape from the Labyrinth. Daedalus had built the Labyrinth, at the command of King Minos, to house the Minotaur. As a young man, Minos had profaned and offended the gods by mating with a cow. The resulting abomination of their union had been banished to the Labyrinth, there to spend its pitiful existence skulking among the twists and turns of the maze. Shortly, there after, in one of his many wars with Athens, King Minos had decreed that the Athenians were to send him seven young men and women every year, where they led into Labyrinth one at a time and fed to the abomination.

Daedalus came to an intersection and stopped for second or two, listening carefully. He could still hear the shouting and cursing of the King’s soldiers somewhere in the Labyrinth. The maze could play tricks on the ears of the unwary. Daedalus had designed the Labyrinth to do that. It was meant to play tricks on its victims, to allow the Minotaur to play with its victims. Icarus almost ran into his father, who was standing completely still, head cocked, listening carefully.

“Father?” whispered Icarus, “why have we stopped? The soldiers are gaining on-.”

Daedalus motioned for his son to be quiet. After another second or two of listening he motioned to Icarus. “Come,” he whispered, “this way.” He turned down a side passage, then turned again and the sound of shouts and swearing noticeably faded. He made several more rapid turns in quick succession. After awhile, Daedalus stopped and listened again. He couldn’t hear anything and kept walking at a slower pace. After awhile, Daedalus and Icarus stopped again. Daedalus crouched down and ran his fingers along the seam where the wall met the floor. He found a crack, almost hairline thin, and pried up a loose chunk of stone, revealing a bundle of tools underneath. He extracted them and passed a long bronze pry bar to Icarus. He kept the other one for himself and standing with his son, pried up several of the heavy paving stones that lined the floor of the Labyrinth. Underneath was a depression lined with stones, in which Daedalus had hidden two large objects wrapped in cloth. Daedalus and Icarus pulled the two large bundles out of the cavity and tucked them under their arms. They moved a short way down the passage and stopped at what appeared to be a gap between two stones. Daedalus thrust his hand into a fissure in the rock. He took hold of a hidden lever. He pulled it and the stones slid apart. A cool night breeze blew into the opening.

Daedalus and Icarus stepped out of the Labyrinth and on to a narrow dirt track. The night was far gone. The moon was playing hide and seek behind scudding clouds and Orion hung low in the sky. With only starlight light and moonlight to guide them, Daedalus and Icarus set off along the dirt track. They could hear the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. They walked for about an hour, not saying anything, lest somebody hear them and send word to the palace, but they only passed the occasion shepherd’s hut.

Eventually Daedalus and Icarus came to a spot overlooking the cliffs and the sea. The first light of dawn brushed the horizon where the bowl of the sky ran down to touch the sea.They began to remove what initially appeared to be a large pile of brush. After about half an hour’s labour, the camouflage lay scattered around a large double catapult. It consisted of two sets of stone pillars standing side by side. They bracketed a pair of wooden ramps that pointed toward the sea at a slight incline. At the end of each ramp was a broad bow made of a single, large piece of beaten bronze. Just inside the arc of each bow and held in place with heavy braided ropes was a small wooden cart, just big enough to lie down on. These in turn were connected by drawstrings to a system of pulleys which were connected to a large capstan.

The light of dawn began to creep slowly across the horizon. Daedalus took one of the two long handled shafts and handed it to Icarus. He took the other one and fitted it into one of the two square pegs in the capstan. “Come, Icarus,” he said, “let us be away from this place.” It didn’t take them long to pull back the drawstrings of the two catapults. They unwrapped the bundles they had extracted from the cavity under the stone slab to reveal two pairs of wings. They were made of cloth with a covering of wax and feathers stretched over a thin wooden frame.

Daedalus helped Icarus strap on his wings, deftly tying the knots so that Icarus’ wings would keep him aloft. “Do you remember what I told you, my son?” asked Daedalus.

Icarus nodded. “The wings are fragile,” he said. “We can not go too low or the feathers will get wet-.”

“-And if we go to high?” asked Daedalus.

“The wax will melt and the feathers will fall out,” replied Icarus.

Daedalus nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Icarus nodded. They paused for a moment, praying several litanies, invoking the Litany of Hermes, for swiftness, the Litany of Aeolus for favourable winds, the Litany of Tyche, for good fortune and the Litany of Zeus for protection. When they were finished invoking the favours of the gods, Daedalus and Icarus lay down on the two little wood carts. Icarus felt his heart beating very fast and took several deep, steadying breaths.

Daedalus lay down next to Icarus and took hold of a long thin cord that ran back to a release pin. He steeled his nerves.

One.

Two.

Three.

Daedalus gave a sharp tug and the pin came loose. The pent up tension suddenly released and Daedalus and Icarus were suddenly throw forward. A split second later they were airborne. Icarus’ heart was in his throat as the sea rushed up to meet him. For a brief instant that seemed to last several eternities, he thought that Daedalus’ plan had failed and that they were about to be dashed to pieces against the rocks. No sooner had Icarus thought this than he felt a hard jerk and his descent slowed. He felt his arms being pushed upward and behind his back as the breath of Aeolus caught the underside of his wings. He beat against the air and the motion of his flapping arms caused him to rise. Icarus flapped his arms again, harder this time and he rose higher into the air.

Icarus kept flapping his wings, rising higher and higher with every gust. He looked off to his right. He could see his father beating his wings in a smooth steady rhythm. As Icarus turned his head, his flight path shifted and he drifted closer to his father. For a heart stopping second, Icarus thought that he was about to collide with his father and that the two of them would go tumbling into the sea, but Daedalus noticed just in time that Icarus was too close and banked away opening the distance between them again. Icarus sank slowly toward the ocean. It spread away beneath him in all directions like a wrinkled blue sheet. Icarus his wings against the air again, and felt himself rise. He kept flapping his wings with the same smooth rhythm as his father. Out of the corner of his eye, the coast gradually fell away, until it was nothing more than a thin dark line, barely visible on the horizon. Below him, he could see the white furrow of a fat cargo ship as it plowed its way through the cobalt blue waters of the Aeagan. Farther toward the horizon, Icarus thought he spied the flash of oars beating against the surface of the water. He looked closer and saw a sleek trireme streaking across the waves, leaving barely a ripple in its wake.

_This is wonderful,_ thought Icarus. _This is what it must be like to be on Mount Olympus._ He felt himself settle a little and flapped his arms again, rising another ten feet into the air under the influence of the additional thrust. Feeling the wind in his hair and tugging at his toga, Icarus revelled in the sensation of soaring like a bird. The sensation of speeding along, suspend between the deep blue sea and the endless pale blue dome of the sky, made Icarus feel like Hermes, winging his way above the world, bearing the messages of the gods. Icarus suddenly felt uncomfortable at these thoughts. It was not wise to equate one’s self the gods when in such a lofty position and he quickly muttered the Litany of Hermes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Icarus saw his father bank suddenly, turned away to the east and he followed suit. Far off on the distant horizon, the long fingers of the Peloponnesus jutted out into the Aegean Sea, sliding away into the distance behind him. Icarus levelled out his flight path again and surveyed everything below him again. He spied the white plumes of a pod of bottlenose dolphins frolicking amid the waves. Icarus flapped his wings again, putting on a burst of speed and gaining altitude in the process. The coast of Africa appeared as a dark, dusty brown smudge in the corner of his eye. He flapped his wings again, rising still higher. The frolicking dolphins disappeared and Icarus could see his father soaring along below him. The white feathers of his wings stood out sharply against the cobalt blue water of the Mediterranean.

Icarus kept rising higher and higher. The world spread itself out beneath him as he rose, like one of the many scrolls in his father’s study. He lost sight of individual cities and towns. He could only just see the largest buildings, betrayed by the glint of marble and the bright red tiles of their roofs. He felt the sun on the back of his neck and basked in the warmth. He flew like this for a long time, savouring the view, the wind on his face and the warm sunlight.

The heel of Magna Graecia was just emerging over the horizon when it happened. Icarus suddenly felt something hot and sticky dribbling on to the back of his neck. For a second he wondered confusedly what it could be, a bird perhaps? _But that’s absurd_ , thought Icarus dismissively, _birds don’t fly this high._ Then he saw motion out of the corner of his eye and saw something falling. It was white and viscous looking had a tuft of feathers sticking out of it. It was followed immediately by another, and another, and another. For a second, Icarus wondered what it could be. Then he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach and he realized that he had settled slightly. He flapped his arms again and rose a little, but sank again, more quickly this time as soon as he stopped flapping. Icarus flapped his arms even more powerfully than before. Again, he rose slightly and then rapidly sank twenty feet.

Icarus spread his arms as wide as he could, an attempt to slow his descent. He felt himself slow a little, but he was still falling. As he fell, Icarus heard a whistling noise, like air being forced through a small hole. He tried crane his neck, turning his head to see where the noise was coming from. As he did, he was suddenly pulled into a wide turn. Out of the corner of his eye, Icarus saw a bright shaft of sunlight piercing through a hole the size of a drachma. As Icarus watched, the hole in his wing grew steadily larger and he felt himself falling at an ever increasing rate of speed. A hazy shadow fell across his face and something made his eyes burn. _Smoke,_ he thought, _something is smoking._ And then he saw flames steadily licking the feathers around the hole in his wing. The hole continued to get bigger. For a brief second, Icarus tore his eyes away from the burning hole in his wing and stared down at the water. It was a mistake. The surface of the Mediterranean, which not long before had seemed to be as placid as a lake, suddenly seemed to be a pair of arms all encompassing arms reaching out to grab him.

Icarus tried to flap his arms again, but all he did was fan the flames. He jerked suddenly as if someone had struck him with a hot needle. He felt a searing pain on his back. It was as though someone was sticking hot needles into his skin. Suddenly, the realization struck him, his toga had caught fire. Without thinking of the consequences of his actions, Icarus tried to reach around behind himself and pat out the flames. Had he not done this it is entirely possible that he would have made it to Sicily, but it was not to be. Icarus felt his wing tip immediately begin to burn. At the same moment, his rate of descent increased markedly and Icarus heard the wind whistling in his ears. He felt his eardrums pop due to the change in air pressure. He tried to put his arm back out, but to no avail. The wax in his wing had melted and fused, pinning his arm in place and all he did was cause himself to start tumbling in the air. The world spun crazily, as Icarus fell rapidly, tumbling head over heels.

Sky.

Sea.

Sky.

Sea.

Sky.

Sea.

Icarus thrashed helplessly in the air, still trying to free himself. He tried to draw in a breath and coughed. He had taken in a lungful of smoke. Icarus’ eyes were watering from the soot and he could barely see. It was perhaps, fortunate, then that Icarus was unable to see the appalled look on Daedalus’ face as his son went plummeting past him, helplessly spinning and on fire to plunge hissing into the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of the space age from the birth of Robert Goddard to the launch of Sputnik.

October 5, 1882

Worchester, Massachusetts

The United States

“Push, Mrs. Goddard, push!” said Dr. Dunwood. Fanny Louise Goddard lay on her bed, her night clothes drawn up above her waist, exposing her distended abdomen. Her face wore a thin sheen of perspiration. It was twisted into a grimace as she breathed in and out rapidly. Her legs were spread wideLy apart in front of her.

“Push!” said Dr. Dunwood again.

Fanny groaned and pushed and continued her rapid exhalations.

Dr. Dunwood examined her carefully. “Yes,” he said. He pulled a pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time. The contractions were coming approximately two minutes apart. Fanny screamed in agony as she bore down and pushed again. The midwife reached down between her legs cleaned away some of the amniotic fluid. Dr. Dunwood looked at his watch again. He expected the baby to crown soon. He pulled a pencil and a small notebook from his doctor’s bag and quickly scribbled down his patient’s vital statistics. Pulse, heart rate, dilation, time between contractions and so on. “Yes,” he said to to himself again, “yes, good.”

Fanny felt another painful contraction and she pushed again, groaning loudly.

“Dr. Dunwood,” said the midwife, “the baby is crowning.”

He gently pushed her aside and examined Fanny once again. The top of the baby’s head was emerging from the birth canal. He motioned to the midwife. “Clean towels and hot water” he said, “quickly.” She nodded and left the room to find the maid about as fast as was possible to do so without running.

Dr. Dunwood turn his attention back to Fanny. “You’re doing wonderfully,” he said, an encouraging note in his voice. “The baby’s almost here. When Mary comes back, I need you to push just once more and then it’ll all be over, alright? Can you do that for me?”

Fanny nodded. Behind him, the bedroom door opened and then shut with a snap as Mary, the midwife, returned with a pitcher of hot water, a large basin and clean bedsheets and night clothes in her arms. She deposited them on a small table in a corner of the room next to the window. The sunlight coming in the bedroom window slanted across the room at a low angle as the sun slid toward the horizon.

Fanny felt another painful contraction and grimaced again.

“One more time,” said Dr. Dunwood. “Push!”

He positioned his hands to catch the baby. She pushed one more time and the baby came screaming into the world. Dr. Dunwood took the baby from his mother. He slapped the baby to induce breathing, and the baby’s squalling filled the room. Dr. Dunwood cut and tied the baby’s umbilical cord. He rummaged in his doctors’s bag and extracted a measuring tape, while the midwife gently washed away the residue of birth. When she was finished, he took the baby and placed on a scale that was sitting on the table next the pitcher and the pile of blankets and bedsheets. He measured the baby, scribbled down his weight, took his pulse, murmured something to Mary and nodded and went out, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Dunwood left the bedroom and stepped into the hall. He gently pushed passed the cook and the kitchen maid who had come up from downstairs. They were clearly after news of Mrs. Goddard and the baby. He murmured the usual pleasantries to the cook and the kitchen maid and kept walking until he reached the top of the stairs. He proceeded downstairs, turned left and continued walking until he found the door he was looking for. He raised he right fist and knocked twice. The door opened and he stepped inside.

Nahum Danford Goddard stopped pacing at the sound of the knock on his study door. He crossed the room in a couple of strides and open the door to find Dr. Dunwood standing on the threshold. He took a step back and the doctor stepped inside. Nahum shut the door again. The room was lined with bookshelves. A drop down desk and a chair stood along one wall. On the opposite wall was a window that looked out on to the yard, which contained a chicken coop and an outhouse. A slightly looking Franklin battered stove stove stood in the fireplace. A thin blue cloud of cigar smoke hovered near the ceiling.

Nahum Goddard was twenty-three years old. He was a short and rather stocky man with a large moustache. A cigar was clamped firmly between his teeth. He had been born in Boston to Nahum and Mary Goddard in 1859. When it had proven impossible to scratch out a living as a musician in Boston, in the years following the American Civil War, Nahum Goddard Senior had moved his family to Worchester, uprooting his grown up son in the process. Nahum Danford Goddard had been in the employ of WB Browne and Co and had arrived in Worchester with a glowing recommendation from his former employer. He quickly found work in the employ of the L Hardy Manufacturing Company as a book keeper. The L Hardy Manufacturing Company made knives and other cutting implements for the paper and textiles industries. While employed by the Hard Manufacturing Company, Nahum had become smitten with a slender, doe-eyed young woman named Fanny Louise Hoyt. Fanny was the daughter of Fred Hoyt, who was one of the company’s co-owners. Nahum and Fanny had quickly fallen in love with each other and had resolved to get married. However, Fanny’s father had objected to the match.

“I utterly forbid it!” he had said. He believed that Nahum Goddard’s family was improvident.

Despite his objection, Nahum and Fanny were married on Nahum’s birthday and Fanny had been disinherited by her father as a result. That had been exactly nine months and two days ago.

Dr. Dunwood placed his doctors bag on the drop down desk and opened it with a snap. It was made of black leather and had a brass lock, which shone brightly in the late afternoon light coming in through the window which looked out on to the yard. He extracted a small bottle and two glasses. “I only have a moment to look in on you,” he said. He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and poured some amber coloured liquid into the two glasses, “but I wanted to congratulate you,” he said. He picked up one the glasses and passed it to Nahum, who took. “Mrs. Goddard has safely delivered a boy.”

Nahum quickly knocked back his drink and shook Dr. Dunwood’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, “for all your assistance.”

Dr. Dunwood waved away Nahum’s compliment and put away the two glasses and the bottle. He shut his doctors bag with a snap. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said. “It’s always a privilege to bring a new life into the world.”

“How are Fanny and the baby doing?” asked Nahum.

“The baby is healthy and they’re both resting comfortably,” replied Dr.Dunwood.

Nahum nodded. “How soon before they can travel?” he asked. Nahum had been in the midst of making plans to take Fanny back to Boston

Dr. Dunwood’s eyebrows went up in slight surprise. “Travel?” he asked, “no I’m afraid that that’s quite out of the question. It will be several weeks at least before they may be fit to travel. Your wife needs to recover from her pregnancy and the baby need sot acclimatize to his surroundings.”

Nahum nodded again. “Yes, I understand, doctor, thank you.” _It seems that I will have to put off my business plans for at least for a time_ , he thought. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Dr. Dunwood nodded his thanks and the two men left Nahum’s study. Dr, Dunwood followed Nahum down the hall to the bottom of the stairs up to the second story. They kept going until they reached the foyer with its elaborately carved oak front door. Nahum thrust a hand into the pocket of his smoking jacket and pulled out his billfold. He opened it, counted out some crisp new bills and handed them to Dr. Dunwood. The doctor took them and quickly a scribbled out a receipt for Nahum who accepted it and put it in his wallet, which he put back in the pocket of his smoking jacket.

“Good bye, Mr. Goddard,”said Dr. Dunwood. “Congratulations again. If Mrs. Goddard or the baby require anything, please do not hesitate to send for me.”

Nahum shook the doctor’s hand again. He opened the front door and Dr. Dunwood stepped in to the autumn chill. Nahum paused in the act of shutting the door and momentarily watched as the doctor hailed a passing cab. After a second or two, he turned away from Dr. Dunwood climbing into his cab and proceeded back to toward the stairs. He paused for just a moment and mounted the stairs up to the second storey. When he got to the top of the stairs he turned walked down the hall to the room where his wife had just given birth. He stopped in front of the door and knocked softly.

A second or two later the door opened and the maid came out with a bundle of soiled bedsheets, a washbasin and a pitcher. Nahum stepped aside to let her pass and then stepped inside. The midwife excused herself and went out. There was a ringing silence that seemed to last for several eternities. In actuality, it was only ten seconds. He seemed to be almost hyper aware everything in the room, from the slightly faded floral wallpaper to the brass bed to the bedside oil lamp. The bedsheets had been changed, Fanny’s hair had been combed and the sweat from her labour had been washed away. She had been dressed in clean night clothes. She cradled her newborn son in her arms as he suckled at her breast. Nahum walked toward Fanny’s bed. His footsteps seemed to echo extra loudly on the wood floorboards. Nahum pulled a chair over from a corner of the room and set it down next to the bed. He sat down and took gently Fanny’s hand. “I love you,” he said, “and I’m very proud of you.”

Fanny gave Nahum’s hand a loving squeeze. “I love you too,” she replied. Her gaze returned from her husband to her son, who continued to suck greedily at her nipple. They were silent for a time, watching the baby feed.

“So what should we name him?”asked Nahum.

Fanny thought for a moment. “Let’s call him Robert,” she said.


	3. Chapter 3

January, 1883

Worcester, Massachusetts

The two horses stood snorting in front the house on Maple Hill, their breath misting in the cold January air. The wagon behind them was piled high with furniture, trunks of clothes and the other sundry belongs of the house’s occupants. The door opened and two men in coveralls and thick winter coats came out. They were carrying a heavy chest of drawers between them and sweating profusely, despite the freezing temperature. They picked their way carefully across the bare snow covered yard from the house to where the freight wagon stood laden with furniture. Their hobnail boots skidded several times on patches of ice hidden under the snow. On several occasions, they nearly spilled their load on to the frozen ground, but they eventually made it to the wagon with out mishap. They carefully levered the heavy chest of drawers into the back of the wagon and set it upright. They tied it down and then set about covering their load with a heavy tarp, which they tied into place with a series of knots. They tugged on the cord several times to be certain that the knots were good and tight.

The door opened again and Nahum emerged. He had been taking one last turn through the house, checking in the corners and behind closet doors, making sure that nothing had been left behind. Fanny, cradling her three month old son in the crook of her arm, lingered just inside the open doorway, savouring the warmth of the house as her husband crossed the yard to where the movers loading the last of the Goddards’ possessions into the back of the wagon.

They paused in what they were doing as they watched Nahum approach. They tipped their caps and said, “good morning, Mr. Goddard.”

Nahum nodded, “good morning,” in return. He thrust a gloved hand into the inside pocket of his winter coat and extracted a leather billfold. He opened it and handed each of them a five dollar bill. “This is the last load,” he said, gesturing the contents under the tarp in the wagon bed. “You can take this along to the train station, and my wife and son and I will follow you shortly.” Nahum produced several more dollar bills and handed them to the two movers, “Oh get some porters to help you unload all of this when you get there.”

They nodded in understanding and clambered up on the driver’s seat behind the horses. The reigns snapped and the two horses leaned into their traces. The leather horse tack squeaked in the cold and the wagon creaked as it began to move. The horses snorted and their breath frosted in front of them in an icy white cloud as their hooves clopped loudly on the frozen ground. They picked up speed. After a second or two, they heavy wagon rounded a bend and disappeared from sight.

No sooner had the movers and the wagon disappeared, than a carriage with a driver appeared. The carriage rolled to a stop place that the wagon had just vacated a few minutes before. The driver pulled up on the reigns and the horse stopped with a snort. The driver looked down from his perch and the short, stocky moustachioed man waiting in the yard.

“Good morning,” said the driver. He fished in his pocket for a scrap of paper. “Is the Goddard resistance?” he asked.

Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said, “please excuse me while I fetch my wife and son.” He turned and, crossing the yard, went back into the house. A second or two later, he re-emerged with Fanny and the baby in tow. The driver clambered down from his perch and held open the carriage door while Fanny carefully climbed inside, balancing the baby in her arms. Nahum followed her and shut the door. The interior was slightly worn and smelled slightly musty. He took the seat opposite his wife and infant son. He rapped on the roof of the carriage and it lurched into motion.

The carriage ride from the house on Maple Hill to the train station took half an hour. The train station faced on to Washington Square in downtown Worchester. A tall clocktower built of Tennessee granite thrust upward into the clear winter sky. The clock was striking eleven with a deep, sonorous _BONG-BONG-BONG_. The roof line of the station’s strain shed rose to a peak above the grey limestone façade of the the ticket all. The carriage lurched to a stop under the portico at the far end of the station, in front of a set of double doors inset with etched glass and brightly polished brass door handles. The words “UNION STATION” were carved into the granite lintel over the door.

The driver clambered down from his perch and helped Fanny out of the carriage. Nahum paid him, handing him some bills from his billfold plus a tip. The driver nodded his thanks and clambered back up on to the driver’s seat. He snapped the reigns and the carriage rumbled off. Nahum and Fanny went into the station. The ticket hall was a large echoing room. A circular counter made of varnished oak with a highly polished marble top dominated the middle of the space. There were half a dozen ticket agents at the counter and about a dozen people waiting in line to be served.

Nahum glanced at the large clock over the the double doors leading to the platforms. It read 11:30. He extracted his pocket watch from his vest pocket, examined it. It was running a couple of minutes slow. He would have to wind it later. He turned to Fanny. “Darling, why don’t you take the baby and sit down while I see to the tickets.”

Fanny nodded and turned toward the wooden benches that dominated the far half of the ticket hall, still carrying her son cradled in her arms. Meanwhile, the line moved slowly forward and after about ten minutes he stepped up the counter.The ticket agent, a young man in his early twenties with sideburns and neatly parted hair turned toward Nahum.

“May help you, sir?” he asked.

Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I have placed a reservation for compartment for myself, my wife and my son on the 12:30 train to Boston. I am here to collect my tickets.”

“Name please, sir,” replied the ticket agent in a slightly reedy sounding voice.

“Under the name of Goddard,” said Nahum.

The tickets agent bent down, opened a drawer under the counter and began rifling through it as though looking for something. “Hmmmmm,” he said, “Goddard…..ah…..here.” He shut the drawer and straightened up, holding a sheaf of train tickets in his hand. “Here are your tickets, Mr. Goddard,” he said. “You are in car #648, compartment C. Your tickets also indicate that you have engaged an express boxcar, is that correct?”

Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I would like to ensure that my belongings have been loaded according to my wishes,” he said. “Can you arrange this for me?”

The ticket agent nodded. “Yes, Mr. Goddard. Please wait a moment.” He turned and whispered something to one of the other ticket agents, who excused himself and immediately rushed off. He returned several minutes later with one of the station porters in tow.

“Mr. Goddard has engaged an express boxcar and would like to see that it has been loaded properly,” said the ticket agent.

The porter nodded. “Yes sir,” he said. “Please follow me.” The porter set off with Nahum following behind him. They crossed the echoing ticket hall toward the etched glass doors leading to the train shed and the platforms. The porter held the door open as Nahum stepped on the station platform. The smell of creosote and coal smoke hung in the air. The winter sunlight illuminated the train shed through a series of skylights that were covered in soot from the trains that arrived at departed the station on a daily basis. The porter gestured to the far end of the platform, where a locomotive sat belching steam and soot. Near the head end, behind the tender and in front of the mail car, a boxcar stood with its door open. Trunks, packing cases and furniture stood scatted here and there on the platform next to it. The two movers grunted in unison as they lifted a heavy steamer trunk.

Nahum watched as the two movers maneuvered the heavy trunk into the interior of the boxcar. He paused momentarily and followed them inside. It was dark. The only light in the car’s interior was the light coming in from outside through the open double doors, which were folded back on their double hinges so that they lay flay against the side of the car, obscuring the sign that read

New York Central Railroad

Express Delivery Service

The footsteps of the three men on the rough cut wooden boards that formed the floor of the boxcar echoed slightly in the confined space. One end of the boxcar was filled with shelves, which were ladened with parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Items too large to fit on the shelves, were stacked neatly on the floor. Everything was piled according to its eventual destination. The other end of the car was filled with a wide assortment various large and otherwise ungainly objects. Everything was packed in very tightly. Here and there among the organized clutter, Nahum could the familiar shape of a tall chest of drawers that had belonged to Fanny and had been located in the bedroom at the end of the hall where she had given birth. It was covered by a heavy looking blanket.

Nahum nodded approvingly. “Yes,” he said. “This looks quite satisfactory.” He turned and exited the boxcar, stepping back on to the station platform. With the porter in tow, Nahum walked briskly back into the ticket hall, the soles of his shoes echoing slightly on the terrazzo floor. He walked back over to the large circular ticket counter in the middle of the hall. The ticket agent with the reedy sounding voice who Nahum had spoken to earlier, immediately detached himself from another passenger and made a beeline for where Nahum was standing at the counter, with Nahum’s sheaf of train tickets in hand.

“Mr. Goddard,” he said, “I trust that everything is to your satisfaction?”

Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Everything looks to be quite acceptable.”

“Good,” replied the ticket agent. “That will be $50.00.”

“Oh, yes of course,” replied Nahum. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his billfold again and produced the requisite $50.00, which he handed to the ticket agent, who counted out the bills and slide the tickets across the counter toward Nahum. Nahum picked up the tickets, inspected them and when they proved to be satisfactory, tucked them into his pocket with his billfold and went to join Fanny and the baby.


	4. Chapter 4

January, 1883,  
Worchester, Massachusetts 

The boarding call for the Knickerbocker came an hour later. Robert, who had been asleep in Fanny’s arms, awoke at the sound of the conductor’s voice through a large bullhorn.  
“ATTENTION! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! TRAIN #384, THE KNICKERBOCKER, IS NOW BOARDING ON PLATFORM #1!”  
Robert began to cry loudly at the sound of the conductor’s magnified voice. Fanny made cooing noises and gently rocked her son back and forth in her arms. “Its all right,” she said quietly. Nahum touched her gently on the arm and stood up. They follow the stream of people across the ticket hall and through the doors under the sign that said “To Trains.”   
The station platform was think was people as the passengers mingled on the platform, consulting their tickets before hurrying off to find their assigned cars. Porters threaded their way through the throng ladened luggage, while the conductor seemed to every at once. Nahum consulted the tickets again. The crowd on the platform was beginning to thin out. He glanced at his pocket watch and then at the station clock. The train would be departing soon. They walked down the platform until they reached the middle of the train.  
Nahum and Fanny stopped in front of car #642. A heavy-set man with a red face and wire spectacles stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the car. “Good morning,” he said with a smile. “May I see your tickets, please?”  
Nahum reached into his coat pocket again. He produced the requested tickets and handed them to the conductor. He took them and examined them, peering at them through his spectacles. “Yes,” he said, “these appear to be in order.” He produced a little metal hole punch from somewhere and clipped them with a metallic click. He handed the tickets back to Nahum, who took them and put the tickets back in his pocket.   
“Welcome aboard,” said the conductor. He gestured to the train. The sound of doors closing with series of loud bangs echoed up and down the platform. “Up and to the left please.” Nahum climbed the steps up on to the train and then took the baby as Fanny mounted the steps behind him. The train shuddered slightly as the engine brakes were released. The sound of hissing stream filled the train shed. Balancing Robert in his arm, Nahum opened the door and held it for Fanny who went inside. Nahum followed her and shut the door.

The train ride from Worchester to Boston took an hour. When the Knickerbocker pulled into Boston’s North Station, it was snowing gently. Nahum and Fanny, with Robert in her arms, threaded their way through the throng of people, flowing from the station platform into the large echoing ticket hall. The main concourse bustled people. They walked across the large space toward the marble topped ticket counter. After speaking briefly to one of the ticket agents, they turned down a side passage which eventually led them back to the platform, where they were met by a tall man with think mutton chops.   
“May I help you?” he asked.  
Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I am Mr. Goddard, and this is my wife.” He gestured to Fanny who was rocking Robert gently in her arms. “We are waiting for the movers to unload the express mail car.”  
The tall mutton chopped platform attendant riffled through the collection of papers on the clipboard in his hand. “Oh, yes,” he said, “Mr. N Goddard; shipping contents of house from Worchester to Boston.” He glanced up from his paperwork at Nahum. “Is that correct, Mr. Goddard.” Nahum nodded. “Very well,” replied the platform attendant, “please go back into the station. When your movers have arrived to unload your things someone will come and get you.”

They waited in the station for half an hour before the movers came to unload the contents of their house from the boxcar. Fanny dandled Robert on her knee, then fed and changed him. They followed the on of the station attendants back down the same side passage the platform where they had disembarked earlier. The boxcar’s double doors were folded back and latched in position again. Several people were going in and out, unloading the various parcels and packages that occupied the shelving that took up the opposite of the car’s interior. Nahum and Fanny’s things had already been unloaded. They were set apart and clustered together. Nahum lifted the heavy blankets covering the larger pieces of furniture and inspected the dark oak and mahogany finishes underneath. He found a few nicks and scratches here and there, otherwise, they appeared to have weathered being packed, shipped and unpacked with little damage.  
The tall, mutton chopped platform attendant was looking at Nahum and Fanny as they inspected their belongings. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction?” he asked.  
Nahum and Fanny both nodded. “Yes,” replied Fanny, “this looks most satisfactory.”

The movers arrived thirty minutes later. It was snowing more heavily and their faces were red with exertion in the chilly January weather. It was late afternoon and the low winter sun cast long shadows, as the movers arrived with their hand trucks and dollies to cart the Goddards’ possessions away to the heavy wagon that was waiting at the station’s loading dock. Nahum and Fanny followed them and arrived at the station’s loading dock a few minutes later. The two horses stood stamping their hooves in the January chill. Steam snorted from their nostrils and snow collected on their backs. The freight wagon was backed up to the loading dock, with its gate lowered. It had a shabby looking coat of grey paint, which was chipped and peeling in places. It was half full of the jumbled assortment of the Goddards’ possessions. They watched as the movers steadily maneuvered the last of the steamer trunks into the back of the freight wagon. The gate was shut with a snap, which echoed loudly in the still winter air. Nahum gave the stations attendants a dollar each and rattled off the address for the two movers, who climbed on the driver’s seat. The reigns snapped and the freight wagon rumbled off into the tangled snarl of Boston’s mid-afternoon traffic.  
Nahum, Fanny and Robert wound their way back through the station’s labyrinthine passages. Eventually, they arrived back in the main ticket hall. They crossed the large echoing space to the station’s main entrance onto Causeway St, where Nahum quickly flagged down a cab.  
“Where to?” asked the cabbie, in his thick Boston accent.  
Nahum quickly rattled off the address. He helped Fanny into the cab and then climbed in after her. He shut the door and rapped on the roof of the cab. The cabbie snapped the reigns, the horse leaned into its traces with a snort and the cab lurched into motion. When they arrived at their destination twenty minutes later, the cab stopped in front of a three storey red brick townhouse. The freight wagon was parked in next to the sidewalk at the end of the flagstone walk that led up to the front door. The hobnail boots of the movers had broken a furrow through the snow from the freight wagon to the front door, where a formidable looking older woman stood just inside the doorway.   
The cabbie climbed down from his perch and held open the door for Nahum and Fanny, who climbed down out of the cab, with Robert in her arms. The elderly woman standing in the doorway must have noticed Nahum and Fanny because she turned and waved at them. Nahum, pause momentarily while he extracted his billfold from the recesses of his coat and paid the cabbie, who nodded his thanks and rumbled off.  
Mary Pease Upham Goddard watched as her son and his wife trudge through the ankle deep snow up the path from where the cab had dropped them off.   
“Mother,” said Nahum, “what an unexpected surprise. We didn’t expected any visitors in this weather.”  
Madame Goddard waved away her son’s exclamation. “Of I’d come dear. Don’t be silly.” She turned to her daughter-in-law, “and what about you, Fannie,” she asked, “how was your journey from Worchester? Why don’t you and the baby come inside where it’s warm.” She took her daughter-in-law by the arm. “I wouldn’t want my grandson to catch a cold.”

It took several days to unload the furniture and then to unpack all the steamer trunks and boxes of belongings. Madame Goddard stayed for a week and looked after Robert while Fannie and Nahum unpacked the family’s belongings and settled into their new home. The house that Nahum had bought was located in the streetcar suburb of Roxbury. Roxbury, Massachusetts traced its history all the way back to the founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1629. Over the intervening 250 years, Roxbury had grown into an important trade and transportation hub, as it sat on the only direct land route to Boston. Roxbury has grown steadily until in had been incorporated as a city in 1846. In 1868, shortly after the end of the American Civil War, the municipality of Roxbury had been dissolved and incorporated into the city of Boston.  
Nahum and Fannie had made to decision to move from Worchester to Boston shortly before Fannie had become pregnant. Nahum had always had a technological inclination. Nahum, along with his business partner, another former employee of Hoyt, Simeon Stubbs, had moved to Boston with the intention of being closer to investors, labourers and factory owners, as they were intent on starting their own business. Among other things, Goddard had invented a new kind of knife for cutting rabbit skins, in addition to a new kind of welding flux. Nahum was to be, among other things, the company’s travelling salesman.

The storm broke two days after Nahum and Fannie had finished moving into their new home. When Nahum got up early that morning, a think white mantle lay over everything. He estimated that a foot of snow had fallen in the previous two days. After bathing, a shave and a short breakfast, Nahum pulled on his winter coat, boots, hat and gloves. He pulled open the front door and a blast of freezing air entered the foyer. He paused momentarily, pulling his thick wooden scarf higher up around his face and neck. He stepped out side, shutting the oak front door, with its elaborate etched glass window, with a snap that seemed to echo extra loudly in the early morning air. He picked his way carefully through the snow, skidding a little here and there on patches of ice, before eventually arriving at the streetcar stop at the end of Forest Street. The horse-drawn streetcar arrived fifteen minutes later. It rumbled to a stop in front of Nahum and the dozen or so other people who were huddled together and wrapped up against the cold. The horse snorted, twitched its ears and left a steaming puddle in the snow. Nahum fished in his pocket for some change and deposited a dime in to the box by the door. It landed in the bottom of the box with a metallic clink. The conductor handed him a ticket and he sat down. The streetcar jerked into motion and rumbled off.


	5. Chapter 5

Stubbs and Goddard General Manufactures Inc.  
Boston, Massachusetts   
January, 1883

The large red brick edifice was visible from three blocks down the street when Nahum alighted from the streetcar twenty minutes later. North Roxbury was a beehive of industry. The skyline was dominated by a forest of smokestacks. The snow drifts piled against the buildings were tinged grey from the persistent coal soot that hung in the air. Everything had a slightly grimy air. Little knots of people streamed down both sides of the street into the various factories and warehoused that lined both sides of the road. The din of pounding machinery echoed from inside and Nahum was the open doors The buildings echoed with the rumble of heavy delivery wagons and the steady of clop of horses’ hooves on the frozen cobblestones. The street was a frozen river, a slurry of snow, mud and horse manure.  
As Nahum approached, a large sign stretching across the front of the building, almost from one corner to the other proclaimed:

STUBBS AND GODDARD INCORPORATED  
GENERAL MANUFACTURERS

As Nahum approached, he joined the line of men waiting to go inside. Through the open door, he could hear the muffled sound of stamping machines. He quickly made his way inside, threading his way through the controlled chaos of the factory floor to a metal staircase at the opposite end of the building. The noise that had seemed to be a muffled din outside was a now a nearly deafening cacophony. The sound of stamping machines punching knives out of steel dies made Nahum’s ear drums thrum. Sparks flew from high speed lathes and the smell of hot lubricant hung in the air.  
He threaded his way through the controlled bedlam. Workmen in overalls and leather aprons wound their way among the noisy machines, Nahum reached the bottom of the metal staircase. He mounted it and made his way up to a small landing which in turn lead to a door. He opened it and went inside. The door shut behind him with a snap and the pounding din dropped to a more tolerable level. Nahum, paused to deposit his hat and coat in his office and exchange a polite “good morning” with the factory’s two accountants, then woven his way through the warren of offices that overlooked the factory until he stopped at a door with a label tacked to it surface with a hand written scribble that read “S Stubbs, General Manager.” He knocked once and opened the door.   
The office within was a cluttered mess. An oak desk dominated the middle of the room. Behind the desk, a large expanse of windows lookout over the factory floor. In front of the desk were a pair of battered looking wooden chairs. Several book cases lined one wall. They groaned under the weight of thick volumes on patent law, business, economics and mechanical engineering. A coal stove stood in corner, radiating gentle warmth. A hat stand stood by the door bearing a slightly faded bowler hat and a heavy winter coat.  
Simeon Stubbs looked up as Nahum entered his office. The peeling oak door shut behind him with a snap. He was a thin man in his mid twenties. A pair of silver rimmed spectacles balanced on the end of a long thin nose. He gestured to the two battered chairs in front of his desk. “Nahum,” he said getting up and walking around his desk to shake the other man’s hand, “I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. I wasn’t sure if you were going to make with all this snow.” He walked over to the coal fired stove in the corner and picked up a metal coffee pot before returning to his desk. Simeon reached into a drawer and produced a pair of slightly battered looking tin cups. He put them on his desk and pour two cups of steaming hot coffee. He handed one of the cups across his desk to Nahum, who accepted it, cradling the hot cup of coffee in his hand, letting the warmth of the hot coffee seep through the walls of the cup and into his palms. “I trust you received my latest wire?” asked Simeon.  
Nahum took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “Yes, I received your last message,” he replied. “I must apologize for not responding right away. I was in the middle of settling affairs in Worchester, and in any case it sounded as if you had everything under control.”  
Simeon waved away the other man’s apology. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “A new baby would be enough to keep anyone busy.” He shifted through the papers on his desk and produced a collection of telegrams. “We’ve had some interest in your new cutting machine.” He handed them to Nahum, who read through them. Nahum had developed a more efficient way of cutting animal skins. He had initially approached his former employer, Fannie’s father, with the intention of forming a partnership and selling the process to the hat making industry, however, Mr. Hoyt had been completely unwilling listen to Nahum’s plans. Nahum’s interest in his daughter had coloured his thinking, even though he had denied it.   
In any case, Nahum had taken the point and subsequently dropped Mr. Hoyt as a possible partner. Instead he had approached Simeon, who had proven to be much more receptive. Over brandy, and wreathed in a cloud of blue tobacco smoke, after dinner one evening, Nahum had explained how his new cutting machine worked and Simeon had agreed to back him then and there. The two men had spent the next eighteen months patenting Nahum’s cutting machine and searching for suitable premises in which to set up a factory where they could build. They eventually settled on North Roxbury, believing the Boston suburb to have acceptable access to transportation, skilled workmen and an acceptable rate of taxation for their purposes. Simeon, who was putting up most of the money for their venture had come to Boston to over see the installation of the equipment and the hiring and training of the first workmen.  
“How soon can we begin production,” asked Nahum, as he read through the telegrams. It seemed that Simeon had been busier than Nahum had anticipated.

NEED TEN CUTTING MACHINES  
The Boston Hat Company 

AM INTERESTED IN A DEMONSTRATION   
Stetson 

WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT MACHINE  
Biltmore

AM WILLING TO PAY 20% MACHINE COST UP FRONT  
Schoble

PLEASE SEND ESTIMATED DELIVERY DATE  
Rundle and White

Nahum looked up to find Simeon beaming at him. “Congratulations,” he said. He reached across his desk to shake Nahum’s hand. “It seems that your little doohickey is quite popular.”  
Nahum was slightly stunned. The cutting machine that he had designed could cut twice as many skins as any other cutting machine currently in use. At the time Nahum had believed that his design was a substantial improvement over previous cutting machines. He looked a the fistful of telegrams again. It seemed that more than a few people agreed with him. “How soon we can begin production?” asked Nahum again. “Have you signed any contracts yet?” he asked.  
Simeon shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Not yet. We’ve built a few machines, but they took us around a day each.”  
Nahum frowned thoughtfully. “That’s much too slow,” he replied. He ran through some very rough mental calculations, wondering how many machines they should be able to produce and came to an answer of approximately one an hour.   
Simeon nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I agree, that’s much too slow.” He stood up and Nahum joined him. “Why don’t I show you the the factory,” he said, “and maybe we can start to figure out some our problems.”  
Nahum nodded. When he had arrived, he had gone straight up stairs to Simeon’s office and had not really stopped to inspect the factory floor, which he knew he would need to do. He followed Simeon out of his office and down the hall. The two men went out on the the small landing and down the metal staircase to the chaos and noise of the factory floor. They spent the entire morning going over every inch of the factory floor. Nahum scribbled notes in a small note book that he habitually carried everywhere he went. He made a number of suggestions for improving the manufacturing process and corrected several of the workers when he realized they were putting the machines together incorrectly.

Simeon and Nahum spent the rest of the day going over the factory and then huddled together in Simeom’s office. They cleared the mess of papers and ledger books off of Simeon’s desk and took down the large paper plan that Simeon had tacked to the wall opposite the books shelves full of business and economics books and spread it out on his desk. They spent the rest of the afternoon pouring over it, rearranging to factory’s work flow so as to increase to the factory’s output and reduce the construction time for each cutting machine. By the end of the day, Simeon and Nahum studied the notes and arrows and drawings they had made all over the draftsmen’s floor plan of the factory.  
“I think this much better,” said Simeon.  
Nahum nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he replied.He stared at the plans covered in numbers and arrows and scribbled notes for what seemed like the millionth time. He ran through some quick mental gymnastics. “This configuration of the factory floor should allow us to produce the machine at a rate of one every ninety minutes, once the workmen are properly trained.”  
“Yes,” replied Simeon in agreement.   
Nahum looked at the drawings of the factory floor again. He did some more mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how to long it would take to rearrange the factory floor and properly train the workforce to build the cutting machines.  
Simeon spoke suddenly, interrupting Nahum’s thoughts. “I would surmise that it will take four to six weeks to rearrange all the workstations in accordance with these changes.”  
Nahum nodded in agreed. “I agree,” he replied, He thought some more, doing more mental calculations. “I estimate that it will take at least another two months after that to properly train the workmen to assemble the cutting machine.”  
Now it was Simeon’s turn to frown thoughtfully. After a second or two, he stepped out from behind his desk, crossed his office in a couple of strides and pulled open the door. Nahum made to follow him, mystified as to what his partner was doing, but gestured at him, bidding him to stay where he was. Nahum stopped. A second or two later, he heard the sound of a door opening and a muffled conversation, followed by the sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps in the hall.  
A second later, Simeon returned. He entered the room and shut the door with a snap. He crossed the room and sat back down at his desk with his fingers steepled. “I’ve sent young Mr. Pemberton down to the factory floor to bring up the factory foreman,” he said, “the accountant,” he paused. “I believe you’ve met Chester Goodwin?”  
Nahum nodded. “Yes, we spoke briefly this morning,” he said. “I don’t believe I’m met the factory foreman or your Mr. Pemberton.”  
“Toby Pemberton is my nephew,” he said, “only just turned seventeen, and fancies himself a bit of go-getter, so I gave him a job as my assistant.”  
Nahum had been on the verge asking a question when the door opened and a tall, thin teenager stuck his head in the door. His dark hair was neatly parted and a pair of round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his long thin nose. He radiated nervous energy. “Uncle,” said Toby, “I have summoned Mr. Tabor and Mr. Goodwin, as you requested.”  
Simeon nodded, “thank you, Toby,” he replied. “Please send them in.”  
“Yes, Uncle,” he said. He turned and disappeared for a moment. A second or two later, the door to Simeon’s office opened and two men stepped inside. The first was short, slightly portly man who Nahum judged to be in his late forties. He was clean shaven and blonde hair was streaked with silver. The man standing next to him was tall and barrel chased. An unruly mop of red hair covered his head. He was dressed in a leather apron, dark trousers and sturdy work boots. Elias Prendergast had angular features and a scrubby goatee. There was grease under his finger nails and a wrench stuck out of one his pocket.  
Toby hesitated momentarily. “Do you require anything else, Uncle?” he asked.  
Simeon shook his head. “No,” he said, “not just now, thank you, but I will need those contracts for later. You think you can manage that?”  
Toby nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”  
“I will want those on my desk for thing tomorrow morning.”  
“Yes, Uncle.”  
Simeon nodded. “That will be all for now.”  
Toby nodded and went out of the room. He shut the door behind him with an snap.  
“You asked to see us, Sir,” asked Elias.  
Simeon nodded. “Yes, gentlemen, I did.” He nodded his head at Nahum. “This is my business partner, Nahum Goddard.” There was a polite round of handshakes. “Mr. Goddard designed the prototype for the cutting machine and has agreed to act as the company salesman,” said Simeon. “Mr. Goddard has also looked over the operation of the factory as it pertains to the manufacturing of the cutting machines in the most efficient manner possible, so as to satisfy our business partners. He has made some suggestions which I think we ought to consider.”  
Nahum nodded his head at Simeon and with out preamble began to speak matter of factly. He talked for approximately an hour, outlining the the changing he and Simeon were planning to make to the layout of the factory floor. When he was finished, Chester and Elias were silent for a moment or two, processing Nahum’s information.  
Simeon surveyed his accountant and his foreman they considered what they had just heard. “I am interested in your thoughts gentlemen,” he prompted.  
The two men studied the plans covered with arrows, notes and measurements laid across Simeon’s desk. “If I might suggest,” said Elias, picking up a pencil. Nahum and Simeon nodded for Elias to continue. “You have placed the stamping machines here.” He pointed to a particular spot on the plans. Nahum and Simeon nodded.  
“Yes,” replied, Simeon, “at the time that seemed to be the most sensible arrangement,” he replied.  
Elias nodded and continued. “The steam lines enter here,” he replied, pointing to a different spot on the plans.  
Nahum saw his point at once and nodded. “If we move the stamping machines,” he said, “we’ll have to run the steam lines all the way across the factory.”  
It was Elias’ turn to nod. “The stamping machines would lack the pressure to operate properly,” he said, “and we would be back to where we started.”  
“So what do you suggest?”asked Simeon, staring at the plans spread across his desk.  
“I would suggest moving the stamping machines to here instead,” he said, pointing at a different spot. “The steam lines will not have to be rerouted to the same degree.”  
“And we can move the lathes to here,” said Nahum.  
Simeon nodded. “Yes,” he said. He cast a look at Chester, who had been scribbling with a pencil in a little notebook the whole Elias and Nahum had been talking. “What about you, Chester,” he asked.”Care to reckon what this will cost?”  
Chester frowned for second or two at his scribbled calculations, then at the plans, thick with numbers, scribbled calculations and arrows. He was silent for several seconds, mentally double checking his math. Finally, he put away his pencil and notebook. “I estimate that making the changes that Mr. Goddard and Mr. Pendergast have proposed will increase the rate of production by approximately a third,” he said.  
Nahum and Simeon traded approving looks. If Chester’s calculations were accurate, the modifications they planned to make to the layout of the factory, they should be able to make Nahum’s cutting machine in sufficient numbers to meet up with the demands of the market they were attempting to create. “And what of the cost of to make these modifications?” asked Simeon.   
Chester pursed his lips and mentally ran through the figures one more time. “I estimate that it would cost us $37,000 to make all of the proposed modifications,” he said.  
There were several seconds of silence as this information sank in. “We will require a bank loan,” he said after a time.  
Simeon shook his head. “We’re already in debited to the bank to the tune of $50,000,” he replied. He clearly didn’t relish the idea of going to the bank and taking out a second $30,000 loan.   
The four men exchanged looks. “I would prefer to reach out to our private investors before asking for another loan from the bank,” said Nahum.  
Simeon nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I am inclined to agree.” Simeon walked over to one of the book case and picked up a little bell. It rang with a clear tinkling chime. A second or two later, the door opened and Toby appeared. He had his coat on and a scarf around his neck.  
“Yes, Uncle?” he asked. “I was about to go home for the day. Did you require something?”  
Simeon’s eyes shifted from his nephew to the clock on the wall. The hands read 5:15. “Yes,” he said. “I require a draft letter on my desk to tomorrow to be sent out to all the company’s investors.”  
Toby fished in his pocket for a small note book and pencil. He quickly scribbled down Simeon’s instructions.  
Simeon turned to the other three. “We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, when Nahum came into the factory he went thread he way through the controlled chaos of the factory floor and went straight up to his office, which was on the opposite side of Toby’s small office from Simeon’s. Toby’s office was really more like an alcove. There was a small window overlooking the factory floor and barely enough space for a small roll top desk, a chair and a stove. A clock ticked quietly on the wall above the desk. The door opened as Nahum was passing by and Toby emerged.  
“Good morning, Mr. Goddard.”  
Nahum nodded at the younger man in return, his hat and coat draped over his arm. “Good morning, Toby,” he said. He noticed several pieces of letter paper in Toby’s hand. “Is that the the draft of the letter for the investors?”  
Toby nodded. “Yes, Mr. Goddard,” he replied.  
Nahum held out his hand. “May I see it?” he asked.Toby handed it to him and Nahum quickly read through the pages. After a minute or two he handed the pages back to Toby.  
“Are they satisfactory, Mr. Goddard?” asked Toby.  
Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said. “This appears to be quite acceptable. I’d like a copy of this right away, and a list of our investors’ names and their contact information right away.”  
Toby nodded. “I have taken the liberty of leaving the list of the company’s investors on your desk,” he said, “well, half the list,” he amended. “My uncle has the other half. I believe he has already mailed a number of letters.”  
Nahum nodded, inwardly noting the younger man’s initiative. “When did he do that?” he asked.  
“That was first thing this morning,” Toby replied. “He dashed off several letters immediately and went out to mail them himself not long afterward.”  
Nahum nodded again. “Very well,” he said. “I’d like a copy of that letter right away.”  
Toby nodded. “Right away, sir,” he said.  
Nahum nodded again and walked down the hall to his office. He opened the door and went inside. The room within was larger than Toby’s cramped little office, but slightly smaller than Simeon’s. Like Simeon’s office, the wall opposite the door was composed of windows, which overlooked the factory floor. Nahum hung his hat and coat on the hat stand by the door and sat behind the large oak desk, which back onto the wall of windows overlooking the factory.  
He sat down behind the oak desk. The blotter covering most of the surface of the desk was strewn with letters and telegrams that Simeon and Toby had left for him. He sifted through them, starting to read the assorted the correspondence. Most of it was from potential clients asking for demonstrations of Nahum’s cutting machine and cost estimates of installation. Nahum fished in his pocket for a pencil and a notebook and began jotting down their names and other assorted necessary details. When he was finished he turned his attention back to the mess of letters and telegrams covering his desk, continuing to read. He stopped a second time when he found the list of investors that Toby had left on his desk. Nahum paused and read through the list, again making note of all the company’s investors and the amounts they had invested in the company.   
There was a knock on the door. Nahum paused in the act of his note taking and said, “come in.” The door opened and Toby entered. He was carrying several sheets of letter paper in his hand.   
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Goddard,” said Toby.  
Nahum shook his head. “No,” he said, “please come in.”  
Toby stepped into Nahum’s office, shutting the door behind him with a snap. “I have the letter that you asked for,” he said.  
Nahum nodded and stretched out a hand. Toby crossed the room in a couple of strides and handed the pages to Nahum, who took them from the younger man. His eyes shifted briefly from Toby to the quietly ticking clock on the wall. He estimated that it had been at most fifteen minutes since he had earlier spoken to Toby in the hall out side his office. That was fast, he thought, he really is a go getter. He quickly rifled through the pages.   
Toby looked at Nahum expectantly, and Nahum suddenly realized that he was still standing there. “Thank you Toby,” he said. “This looks most satisfactory.”  
Toby, nodded, turned and went out, shutting the door behind him.

Nahum spent the rest of the morning writing letters and looking over the company’s box. Several times he sent Toby out to send or receive telegrams. When he wasn’t busy writing correspondence, Nahum was closeted with Chester, going over the company’s books, trying gain an understanding of the company’s financial situation and martialing all the arguments necessary for a second bank loan, should one become necessary. He spent the afternoon closeted with Simeon, Elias and a man named Horace Tabor. Horace Tabor was an almost cadaverously thin man with angular features and a prominent Adam’s apple. He had been responsible for laying out the factory floor when Simeon and Nahum had bought the building the previous year. Simeon had sent him a telegram following the consultation they had had the day before. Simeon, Nahum and Elias had shown Horace the changes that they wanted to make and return, Horace had had made some suggestions of his own. By time they finished their discussion, it was nearly 5:00 and they decided to break for the day and go home.  
As Nahum rode the streetcar home, he was quietly pleased. Although the company was not yet producing cutting machines in large quantities, and wouldn’t be for some time, but the company seemed to be the right trajectory. Horace and Elias had both estimated that that the company would not be able to star producing machines at the desired rate for at least another month or two. The workmen were who were to do the work were coming next week. Nahum got off the street car and at the end of Forest Street and walked down the block toward the large red brick townhouse half way down the block. The biting cold of the day before had abated and it was warmer out, despite the setting sun which bast long shadows. The snow had been cleared from the sidewalk. Patches of ice caught the light of the street lamps and glowed in the light of the setting sun.   
Nahum reached his front door and fished in his pocket for his key. It rattled in the lock as he turned it. He paused momentarily to knock the snow off of his boots, then pushed open the door. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The foyer was large and panelled in oak. Nahum hung his hat and coat on the hook by the door. A slender young woman came out of the drawing room, carrying Robert in her arms. She looked slightly startled at the sight of Nahum and turned to look back the way she had come. A second or two later Fannie and Madame Goddard followed her into the front hall.  
“Oh Nahum,” said Fannie, “there you are! We were getting worried that something had happened to you.”  
Nahum shook his head. “No,” he said, “everything is fine, just a long day at the office.” He gestured to the young woman hold his son. “But what’s all this?”   
The young woman performed an awkward curtsy. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she said, “but my name is Mary. I’ve been hired on as a wet nurse.” She nodded to Robert, who was cradled in her arms sucking his thumb.  
“Yes, thank you Mary,” said Madam Goddard, “that will be all for now.”  
“Why don’t you take Robert upstairs for his bath,” said Fannie.  
Mary nodded, curtsied again and took Robert upstairs.  
No sooner had Mary and Robert disappeared upstairs, than a door on the opposite side of the hall opened and a heavyset woman appeared. “Begging your pardon, madam,” she said, “but dinner will be served shortly.”  
“Thank you Trudy,” replied Madam Goddard. She gestured to a pair of double doors, which hung open, and to the dining room beyond. The dining room was panelled in oak. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. It cast a glittering rainbow of light upon the room as the facets of the crystal caught the light of the gas jets and cast it all over the room. Three places were set at the end of the table. Fannie sat down on one side and Madame Goddard sat down on the other, while Nahum sat between his wife and his mother at end of the table.  
The door banged open and the smell of roast beef wafted out. Nahum’s mouth watered and he suddenly realized that he was hungry. Trudy stumped out of the kitchen and placed a large salver of beef on the table, followed by fresh rolls, carrots and mashed potatoes swimming in butter. When she had finished laying the table and pouring both water and red wine, she said, “do you require anything else, Sir and Madames?”   
Nahum shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said, as he poured, rich looking dark brown gravy over his roast beef. “This looks excellent.”  
“That will be all for now Trudy,” replied Fannie.  
“Yes, Ma’am.” Trudy curtsied again and went back into the kitchen.  
He picked up his knife and fork and started on his roast beef. He deposited a forkful of roast beef in his mouth. It was heavenly. He stopped chewing for a moment to savour the taste of the juices spreading across his tongue.  
“Oh my,” said Fannie, as she picked up her knife and fork and took a bite. “This is wonderful.”  
Madame Goddard nodded in agreement. “Yes,” she said. “This is clearly five dollars a week very well spent.”  
Nahum almost choked on his mouthful of roast beef. “Five dollars a week?!” he spluttered. “Fannie, we can’t-.”   
Nahum’s mother laid a hand on his arm. “It’s alright dear,” she said. “I’m paying for your servants.”  
Nahum felt himself flush and opened his mouth to protest. “Mother-,” he began, but Madam Goddard cut her son off with a wave of her hand.  
“I won’t hear a word of protest, Nahum,” she said emphatically. “I’ve arranged for a nursemaid for my grandson, a cook, a kitchen maid and someone to come and clean once a week.”  
“Mother-,” began Nahum again, but she cut him off again before he could say anything else. Nahum and Fannie had discussed hiring a servant or two to help with the baby and clean house, but they had decided that it wasn’t the right time to hire servants and that they would do so once they had settled in and the company was on its feet and making money, which Nahum estimated was a year away.  
Madame Goddard shook her head again, even more emphatically than before. “It’s all arranged, Nahum,” she said. “I won’t hear a word of argument.”  
Nahum turned to Fannie.”What do you think, Fannie?” he asked. “  
Fannie paused momentarily, considering, wonder how to answer her husband. Finally she said, “I know we hadn’t planned on servants just yet,” her eyes shifted back and forth between Nahum and his mother, “but its an extremely generous offer.”  
Nahum sighed to himself. He knew enough to know when he had been outmaneuvered. “Alright,” he said. “Mother, thank you.”  
“You’re certainly welcome dear,” she said patting his arm gently. “Now why don’t we have some more of this excellent roast beef.”


	7. Chapter 7

Winter, 1883

The next several weeks were busy ones. As promised, Horace began to bring workmen, pipe fitters and engineers into the factory to the begin the process of reorganization the production floor. At the same time Nahum and Simeon began to receive responses to the various letters and telegrams they had sent the week before and in the end, they were able to secure an additional twenty thousand dollars in funding to pay for the work that needed to be done. They would still have have go to the bank for an additional loan, but as it was only ten thousand dollars, they were more sanguine about doing so, as they were confident they would be able to pay back the loan with little difficulty, once the company was on its feet, which they estimated would take about a year.  
When Nahum wasn’t in his office, he was travelling. In addition to being one of the company’s owners, he was also the company’s travelling salesman. As such, Nahum spent much of his time on trains, crisscrossing the country, attempting to drum up sales. In the last month, he had visited prospective clients in Detroit, Toledo, Chicago and Pittsburg. The rap on the door of his compartment woke him with a slight start. Nahum sat up and reached for his pocket watch which he had placed in the mesh bag next to his bunk bed. Nahum’s bedroom compartment consisted of a small table and chair, both of which were folded up and a small washbasin with a tap underneath a mirror. He opened his pocket watch and looked and the time. It was 5:30 AM. The knock on the door came a second time.   
“Mr. Goddard, sir?” said the voice of the sleeping car porter from the corridor outside. “Are you awake, sir?”   
Nahum pushed back the covers and got out of bed. He crossed the compartment in a couple of steps and opened the door. The coal black face of the sleeping car attendant was framed in the doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb, Mr. Goddard,” he said, “but your stop is coming up soon, you best get dressed, sir.”  
Nahum nodded his understanding, “yes, thank you,” he said. He pressed some coins into the man’s hand. The porter pocketed the coins and touched his cap in appreciation.  
“Thank you very much, sir,” he said, and he shut the compartment door with a snap.

Washed and freshly shaved, with his travelling case tucked under his arm, Nahum stepped off of the train and on to the platform an hour later. Nahum joined the flow of people on the crowded platform and made his way into the train station. Following breakfast in the station restaurant, Nahum walked out onto the sidewalk. The mingled smells of horse manure and coal smoke hung in the early morning air. The street was already crowded with people, most of them dressed in expensive looking suits. They hurried pasted without so much as saying, “good morning.” A crisp early morning breeze gusted between the tall building. Nahum hailed a passing cab and climbed in.  
He arrived at the Palace Hotel twenty minutes later. He paid the driver and walked inside. The lobby of the Palace Hotel was paved with an intricate mosaic of marble tiles. The soles of Nahum’s shoes clacked loudly as he crossed the lobby to the check-in desk. Early morning sunshine slanted in through the windows, illuminating tastefully arranged clusters of armchairs and little tables scattered among potted palm trees.The man behind the reception desk was tall and slightly heavyset.   
He watched as Nahum approached the reception desk. “May I help you sir?” he asked.  
Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I have a reservation.”  
The concierge pulled a large ledger book toward him and began rifling through its pages.”Your name please, sir?”he asked, as he turned the pages several at a time.  
“I have a reservation under the name of Goddard,” replied Nahum.  
“Hmmmm…..Goddard…..Goddard….Goddard,” said the concierge absently to himself. After a minute or two of searching, the rifling of pages finally stopped and the concierge ran his index finger down the middle of the page until stopped at Goddard’s name. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Mr. Goddard, you are in Room 613.” He picked up a little bell and rang it with a tinkling chime. A bell hop appeared as if out of thin air.   
“You rang, sir?” asked the bell hop.  
Nahum was handed a key on a shiny brass fob.A elaborate letter P was stamped into its surface. “Please take Mr.Goddard up to his room.”  
“Yes, sir,” replied the bell hop. He took Nahum’s travelling case. “If you’ll please come with me, Mr. Goddard.”  
Nahum fell into the line behind the bell hop and followed him around the corner to a cramped elevator. The door was made of elaborately worked wrought iron. It rattled open and and Nahum and the bell hop stepped inside.  
“What floor please sir?” asked the attendant.  
“Sixth floor replied,” Nahum.   
The bell hop pulled the elevator doors shut. The elevator attendant pushed up on a large brass handle and the elevator rattled upward into motion. A minute or two later, the elevator rattled to a stop and the bell hop pulled open the elevator doors and stepped out with Nahum’s travelling case.   
“Sixth floor,” announced the elevator attendant.  
Nahum dug in his pocket and handed the man some changes. He pocketed it and tipped his cap in appreciation. He stepped out and followed the bell hop down the hall. The corridor was covers with a thick soft carpet, which muffled their foot steps. Electric lights glowed from walk sconces. They eventually stopped in front of a door with a highly polished oak veneer. A brass plaque displaying the room number The bell hop fished a key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock. The door swung open, and they stepped inside. Nahum followed the bell hop inside and deposited Nahum’s travelling case on the room’s single bed. Nahum dug in his pocket again pressed some change into the bell hop’s hand. The bell hop tipped his hat in appreciation, closed the door and went out. The door swung silently shut on its well oiled hinges and shut with a snap.  
The room consisted of a bed with a brass bedstead, a night stand with an electric light and a closet in a corner. A side door led into a bathroom, which consisted of a pedestal sink under a round mirror with a beveled edge, a toilet and a large cast iron claw foot bathtub. The walls were painted a soft shade of pastel blue and the floor was tiled with tiny hexagonal subway tiles. The floor of the bedroom was covered with a dark blue carpet and the walls were papered with flora wall paper.  
Nahum crossed the room in a couple of steps and snapped open the latches on his travel case. He flipped the lid, revealing its contents. Inside was a neatly folded jacket and trousers, as well as socks, shoes, shirts, underwear and his shaving kit. Nahum quickly unpacked his travelling case, which he left in a corner between the night stand and the wall. He thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled out small notebook. He quickly rifled through the pages, flipping to the last page, on which he had scribbled an address and the time of his appointment. Nahum put his notebook away and cast a glance at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand in the corner next to the bed. It was still early. After thinking for a second, wonder what he should do, he put his room key in his pocket, turned and went out of the room. He walked down the hall and rode the cramped and rattling elevator back down to the lobby.

Fifteen minutes later, Nahum was climbing into a horse drawn cab. He gave the cabbie the address and they rattled off into the early morning traffic. The cab ride from the hotel to the headquarters of the St. Louis Hat Company took twenty five minutes. The cab pulled up and stoped in front of an imposing looking skyscraper. Windows frowned down at Nahum as he got out and carved gargoyles crouched over the doors. People in business attire and bowler hats were going in and out with briefcases tucked under their arms. Nobody paid Nahum the slightest attention. He joined the stream of people flowing through the front door and into the expansive lobby.  
The lobby of the St. Louis Hat Company was a circular large space that rose up through three floors. Rows of cylindrical columns supporting successive tiers arches, which in turn supported a large dome. The inside of the dome was painted a deep blue and covered with gold stars. Electric lights shone from hidden sconces. The gilt stars caught and refracted the light, suffusing the entire space with a pale golden glow.   
The lobby echoed with the early morning bustle of people going to work. The soles of Nahum’s shoes clacked loudly on the highly polished marble floor. He crossed the vast space to the reception desk, which was situated directly under the blue and gold dome. After speaking to one of the receptionists, Nahum crossed to the bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby and stepped inside. The elevator attendant was wearing a crimson uniform with a double row of gold buttons down the front and a matching bell hop’s hat. The elevator was panelled from to ceiling with mahogany panelling. A shiny brass rail ran around the perimeter of the elevator. Nahum piled in with several other people.   
“Floors please,” asked the attendant.  
A chorus of voices responded to the request.  
Eight.  
Nine.  
Fourteen.  
Seven.  
Twenty.  
The attendant pulled the doors shut and pushed up on the lever. The elevator jerked upward into motion. A few minutes later the elevator stopped on the twenty-eighth floor. Nahum stepped out of the elevator into another lobby. This one was smaller and less elaborate that the huge rotunda downstairs. There was another bank of elevators opposite to the one he had just stepped out of. Corridors ran off in both directions. Nahum turned and started walking, his shoes clacking loudly on the terrazzo floor. He stopped in front of a pair of frosted double glass doors. Next to the them was a directory with a list of names, departments and office numbers. Nahum fished his notebook out of his pocket again and quickly flipped through the pages, until he found the one he wanted. He double checked the name he had written down against the name on the directory. 

Jonas Berringer  
Manager of Procurement  
Rm. 28364

Nahum put his notebook away again, pushed open the double doors and went through them. He found himself in a long corridor. Long shafts of sunlight lanced in through the windows leaving a checkerboard pattern of light and shadow on the terrazzo floor. A series of doors marched away down the corridor. Brass door knobs and and number plates shone brightly in the sunlight. Nahum’s footsteps echoed off of the walls and floor. He found the door he was looking for ten minutes later. Nahum opened the door and went inside. He found himself in a comfortably furnished reception room. A pair of leather chairs sat on either side of a small marble topped table. The top of the table held an ornamental lamp and several recent periodicals.   
Nahum approached the young woman sitting at the desk in the opposite corner. She was wearing a simple blue dress and her dark hair fell to her shoulders. She was sitting at a typewriter. The rhythmic clack of keys filled the room. She looked up as Nahum approached. “May I help you?” she asked.  
Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he said. He fished in his pocket for his business card. “I have an appointment with Mr. Berringer.”  
The young woman took Nahum’s card and examined it closely. “Please wait here,” she said, “and I will see if Mr. Berringer is available.” She got up and went through an inner door. Nahum sat down and waited. He picked up one of the periodicals on the little table. It was last month’s copy of Popular Science. He was in the middle of an article on gliders, when the door opened again and the young secretary reappeared. “Mr. Berringer will see you now,” she said. “Please follow me.” Nahum put down his magazine. He stood up and followed her through the door, which snapped shut behind them. She led him through a warren of offices until they reached a door with a pane of frosted glass. The words

MR. JONAS BERRINGER   
MANAGER OF PROCUREMENT 

were stencilled on it in black and gold letters. The young secretary knocked once and opened the door. “Mr Goddard to see you, sir,” she said.  
Nahum had a brief glimpse of a man sitting at a large desk. “Thank you, Eunice,” he said. “Please show him in.”


	8. Chapter 8

The St. Louis Hat Company  
St. Louis, Missouri   
Winter, 1883

Eunice stepped aside and Nahum entered the room. The man behind the desk was large and beefy looking. The window behind him looked out into the artificial canyon of the street below. Two matching craftsman style chairs made of varnished pine. A brass light fixture hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in the stead glow an electric light. A bookcase stood on one wall. Its shelves were filled with books on business, management and economics. A credenza occupied the other wall. On its surface was a silver coffee service and a crystal decanter full of dark amber coloured brandy and several matching brandy snifters. A small ornamental bronze statue stood on the opposite end of the credenza.   
Jonas nodded at Eunice. “Thank you, Eunice,” he said, “that will be all for now.”  
Eunice nodded. “Yes, Mr. Berringer,” she said. She went out and shut the door behind her. The frosted glass window rattled in its frame as the door swung shut.  
Jonas gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Mr. Goddard,” he said, “please have a seat.”   
Nahum sat down. His chair was straight backed and slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said.  
Jonas shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, I was intrigued by your letter,” he said. “You really believe that your machine is that much better than the Gunderson Automatic?” he asked.  
Nahum nodded. “I do,” he replied, “but then, I designed it. Allow me to demonstrate.” He bent over and opened his travelling salesmen’s case. The shiny brass locks flipped back with a metallic clink. He lifted the lid and produced an intricately detailed saleman’s model. He set on Jonas’ desk amid the scattered fountain pens, ink bottles, letters and other papers. He placed a company pamphlet on the desk next to the model. Nahum spoke uninterrupted for half an hour systematically taking through Jonas the various features and improvements that the Goddard Patented Automatic Cutter had made over pre-existing cutting machines.   
Jonas rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Nahum spoke. At several points, he interrupted to ask questions. “We are investigating the possibility of electrifying our factory,” he asked. “Does your machine anticipate that?”  
Nahum nodded. “It does,” he replied. “Electricity is unquestionably the future. The machine as it is presented here is steam powered, but it has been designed for easy conversion to electrification.” Jonas was silent for a minute or two, considering this.   
“How difficult is the process of conversion?”asked Jonas.  
Nahum shook his head. “It’s not a difficult process,” he replied. He pointed at the model. “The cutting blades are belt driven,” he said. “To convert the machine from steam to electricity, all you have to do it remove the steam valve and install an electric motor and two mounting brackets.”  
“I see,” replied Jonas. He continued to study the model. “And what do you anticipate the cost of installation to be?”  
Nahum thought for a second or two, mentally running the numbers. After a minute or two he said, “that depends, how man machines do you need?”  
Jonas shuffled through the various papered scattered across his desk. Eventually he found the report he was looking for. He rifled through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Jonas handed the report to Nahum, who took it and rapidly scanned through it.  
Three hundred machines, thought Nahum. He mentally crunched some numbers again. Out loud he said, “including shipping and delivery, three hundred cutting machines will cost approximately $80,000.  
“Mmmmm……I see,” replied Jonas, slightly absently. He quickly scribbled down Nahum’s figures. Jonas paused momentarily, studying the numbers that Nahum had given him. “How do you expect it take for us to revive our order?”asked Jonas after a couple of minutes.  
Nahum thought for a minute or two, wondering how to answer. Eventually he said, “unfortunately I can’t give you good answer to that question as yet,” he replied.  
“And why not?” asked Jonas.  
“We are in the process of ironing out some issues with the factory, and have temporarily stopped production,” he replied.  
“To what do you owe this delay?” asked Jonas. “We must have these machines straight away.”  
Nahum nodded. “We know that,” he replied. “We have several other customers who are also waiting for orders. We are doing everything in our power to rectify our problems and get back into production.”  
Jonas nodded in understanding. “I hope so,” he replied, “unfortunately I can not give you an order today, but base on what I have seen and heard, it sounds as if your machine is exactly what we need.” He stood up, signalling that the meeting was over. Nahum stood up and shook Jonas’ hand. “Thank you for your time,” he said, “I’m sorry that we couldn’t come to a deal.”  
Jonas nodded. “Yes, so am I,” he said. “I hope you will keep me appraised of your status. I will give your company my fullest support when I present my recommendation to the board of directors.” He shook Nahum’s hand again. “Good luck.”

Boston, Massachusetts  
March, 1883

The late winter sun shone through the window of the nursery over looking the house on Forest Street. The sun cast a bright square of light on the rug in the middle of the floor. The walls of the room were covered in wall paper with brightly coloured sailing ships. Their sails strained under the gust of an invisible breeze and dolphins frolicked happily. A crib stood on one wall and a changing table stood on the other. At one end of the changing table stood a low table bearing pitcher and basin. At the end other end with a sealed container for soiled diapers. Next to the door was a bookcase ladened with books and toys. A low dresser full of clothes and a toy box stood under the window overlooking the street. A rocking chair stood in a corner.   
In the crib, Robert was sleeping peacefully. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs stretched out lazily. His breathing was slow and even. A mobile of stars and planets hung over the crib. It spun placidly in the weak winter sunlight. The nursery door opened softly and Fannie entered the room. She padded quietly across the room. The sound of her shoes were muffled by the large rug in the middle of the room. Robert stirred slightly in his crib. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. His eyes were dark brown and he had a round cherubic face. There were a few tufts of wispy hair on top of his otherwise bald head. He raised his arms in anticipation of being picked up.  
Fannie bent over and cooed at him. Robert giggled a little and some spittle ran down his chin from the corner of his mouth. Fannie’s nose wrinkled. A pungent smell wafted up from the crib. Robert needed to be changed. She bent over to pick him up and take him over to the changing table. The nursery door opened again and Mary entered.   
“Oh, there’s no need for you to bother with that, ma’am,” she said. “I can look after the baby.”  
Fannie shook her head. “No, thank you, Mary,” she said. “I can manage, but you can go down to the kitchen and ask Cook to prepare a bottle for Robert.”  
“Yes ma’am.” Mary nodded and went out, shutting the door gently behind her. Fannie bent over the crib and picked up her son. He cooed a little as Fannie folded him into her arms. She straightened up and held Robert to her breast. She walked over to the changing table and Robert flat. She opened a drawer, pulled out a clean cloth cloth diaper and laid it next to her son. Next, she produced a chamber pot and and a clean wipe made of soft cotton. She proceeded to undress her son, taking off his pyjamas and setting them aside in a neat pile. Robert was clad in only a diaper, which was held together with a large safety pin. It was darkly stained and bulging. She unpinned his diaper and emptied the contents into the chamber pot, which she covered with a metal lid. Next she took the soiled diaper and deposited it into the container and the other end of the changing table. She noted that it was almost full and made a mental note to have Mary empty it and have the bag full of used diapers sent out to be laundered. She picked Robert up by his ankles, wiped his backside and deposited the now soiled cloth in the container with the diaper.  
Still holding Robert by his ankles, Fannie dusted a fine cloud of soft, white talcum powder onto his backside, then laid him down on the clean diaper and deftly folded it about his waist, She secured it in place with the safety pin. She was just finishing fastening his diaper when the nursery door opened again. Mary entered the room. She was holding a bottle full of milk, which was wrapped in a towel. Cook had warmed it up for her and it was still very warm.   
“I have his bottle, ma’am,” she said. “Would you like me to feed him?”  
Fannie cradled Robert in the crook of her arm and shook her head. “No thank you, Mary,” she said. Robert’s gaze shifted from his mother to the bottle at once, which he seemed to be eyeing intently. He held out out his for the bottle, as if in eager supplication. Fannie took the warm bottle from Mary’s hand. “Thank you,” she said and started walk across the room to the rocking chair in the corner.  
“Do you require anything else ma’am?”asked Mary.  
“Yes,” replied Fannie, nodding to the chamber pot and sealed container of used diapers. “That needs to be emptied and when you’re done with that, you can put the container outside to be collected.” She paused momentarily, as if searching her memory, then said, “I think that will be all for now.”  
Mary nodded her understanding and picked the chamber pot. She tucked it under her arm, and opening the nursery door with her other, went out of the room. The door shut behind her with a snap. Fannie crossed the nursery in a couple of quick strides and sat down in the rocking chair. She put the bottle in Robert’s mouth and he sucked greedily at it. With the smallest push of her toe, she set the rocking chair into motion and began rocking back and forth. Robert placed his small hands firmly on the bottle, as he gulped down its contents. He drank about half of it and when he was done, Fannie took it from him.  
She took him and held him upright, resting his feet gently on her thigh and folding one hand around his backside. Fannie leaned Robert against her shoulder. She began to gently pat him on the back. She did this repeatedly for several minutes with a gentle tapping of her palms between his shoulder blades. Eventually he opened his mouth uttered a guttural sound as he burped. He spit up a little milk and some saliva onto Fannie’s shirtwaist. Robert was sudden drowsy again. His eyelids were heavy and half closed. Fannie cradled him in the crook of arm and he stuck his thumb in his mouth. He began to suck on it gently. Careful not to disturb him, Fannie stood up from the rocking chair. She walked over the changing table, bent over and pulled open a drawer. She reached inside and pulled out a clean cloth. Fannie closed the drawer and straightened up again. With the towel on one arm and her son in the other, she went back over to the rocking chair and sat down again. Fannie cleaned the baby spit off of her clothes and set the used towel aside. She resumed rocking back and forth. With a stomach full of warm milk, Robert’s eyelids soon became heavy. He sucked gently on his thumb as he gradually fell asleep. Fannie cooed at him and sang softly for awhile. She looked down at her son. He was snoring softly and his breathing was gently and even. Taking care not to wake him, Fannie got up padded across the room to Robert’s crib. She carefully bent over and laid him in it. He stirred and snuffled slightly but didn’t wake. She bent over and gently kissed him, then straightened up, turned and quietly went out of the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Stubbs and Goddard General Manufacturers  
Roxbury, Massachusetts   
March, 1883

Nahum was back his desk a few days later. As he walked through from the street and into the factory, he found that the production floor was even more chaotic than usual. The contractors had been busy, Nahum realized. Nahum’s business trip had lasted for less than ten days. During that time, he had visited six different millinery manufacturers, in addition to the stop he had made in St. Louis. Nahum had judged his trip to have been mostly successful. He had received three orders in Chicago, Indianapolis and Phoenix, in addition promises of orders in the future from the other three companies he had visited, in St. Louis, Seattle and Des Moines.  
Nahum went into the factory and out of the cold. It had snowed the night before and surrounding buildings, which were normally covered in a layer of grimy soot, looked unusually bright and pristine in the morning sun. Nahum wove his way through the factory workers and contractors as they bustled around in the controlled chaos. As he crossed the factory floor, Nahum noticed that several of the stamping machines had been partially disassembled. The walls echoed with the clamour of tools and the babble of voices. The hiss of steam, the metallic clatter of piping being wrenched loose and the blue language swearing working assaulted his ears. He threaded his way through the controlled chaos and made his way upstairs to his office, the clatter of his footsteps lost in the general din. Nahum reached the landing and opened the door. He went inside and shut it behind him. The cacophony was instantly muffled. Nahum had barely taken five steps down the hall toward his office, when a door opened and a head popped out. It was Simeon.   
“Nahum,” he said brightly, “good, you’re here. Come into my office,” Simeon indicated his open door with a nod of his head. “I received your telegrams, but I want to hear it from your own mouth.” Nahum followed Simeon in his office. Simeon gestured to the two straight backed chairs in front of his desk. Nahum sat down and waited while Simeon pour two cups of coffee from the coffee pot that sat in its usual place on top of the stove in the corner. Nahum waited patiently for Simeon to finish fussing with the coffee pot.   
After another minute or two, the coffee pot began to whistle loudly. Simeon picked it up and poured two cups of piping hot coffee into a pair of slightly battered looking enamel mugs. He handed one to Nahum who blew on it and took a sip. It was very hot. He felt the hot coffee sliding down his throat and into his stomach. He felt it warming him from the inside out. The heat from the coffee his mug seeped through the metal coffee mug and into Nahum’s hands.   
“So tell me how your trip went,”said Simeon, nursing his own cup of coffee.  
Nahum shrugged. “There’s not much to tell,” he replied. “I have three confirmed orders and intentions to orders from three more when we’ve finished ironing out our problems.” Nahum paused. “How‘s that coming, by the way.”  
It was Simeon’s turn to shrug. “We’re making progress,” he replied. “We’ve had a few set backs, but nothing we haven’t been able to handle.” Simeon had had to reject several crates of parts on Elias’ recommendation. They had received a crate of pipe fittings, however, upon opening the crate, they had discovered a number of the fittings had been cracked. As they were meant for the high pressure steam lines which were to be connected to the stamping machines, they had had to be returned to the manufacturer.  
“Any idea when the new parts will arrive?” asked Nahum.  
“Hopefully soon,” replied Simeon, “but we only sent the ship back to the manufacturer the day before yesterday.”

Nahum sat for a minute or two in thoughtful silence, running a series of mental calculations through his head. He figured it would take at week, or possibly two to ship the defective parts back to the manufacturer in Tucson. His face pulled into a frown.  
Simeon seemed to have noticed, because he reached across the desk and took the coffee cup out of Nahum’s hands and poured him another cup. He handed it back to Nahum, who accepted it, lifted it to his lips and took a sip.  
“When do you anticipate that we will receive our replacement parts?” Nahum asked after another sip of his coffee.  
“I would estimate that it will take at least a week,” replied Simeon.  
“How is this going to affect our ability to fill our orders?” asked Nahum. He fished in his pocket for his notebook and pencil. He rifled through it to a blank page and quickly started to scribble down every thing Simeon had told him so far.  
“I don’t think it will affect us too badly,” replied Simeon. “The rest of the changes we need to make to the factory are proceed as planned,” he replied. “Barring something unforeseen, I don’t believe we’ll have too many issues.”  
Nahum nodded absently. He was still scribbling down notes. After a second or two, the scratching of his pencil stopped and Nahum closed his note book with a small snap. He stood up, and Simeon stood up with him. “Well, it sounds like things appear to be in hand,” he said.  
Simeon nodded in agreement. “Mostly,” he replied.  
Nahum turned to leave. “I had best attend to my desk,” he said. There was doubtlessly a pile of unread letters and telegrams waiting for him on his desk. He crossed the room to the door in a couple of strides and pulled it open. Toby was waiting for him on the other side of the door.  
“Good morning, Mr. Goddard,” he said brightly.   
“Good morning Toby,” replied Nahum.  
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” continued Toby.  
Simeon shook his head. “No, Toby,” he said, “we were just finishing. Is there something I can help you with?”  
Toby brandished a fist full of paper. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Goddard,” he said, “but I took the liberty of collecting your mail while you were away.”  
“Oh,” replied Nahum, “thank you. I’ll take those.” Nahum held out his hand and Toby handed him the fistful of envelopes. Nahum took them and walked down the hall to his office. He opened the door and went inside. His office was dark and slightly chilly. The gas had been turned off and the fire in the stove in the corner had gone out and had not been relit. He relit the overhead gas lamp in the centre of the ceiling with a long tapir. Nahum turned to the stove and opened the door with a creak. He stuffed some scrap paper and dry kindling through the open and went to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and produced a box of matches. He struck one and it sparked to life.   
He reached into the open door in the side of the stove and dropped the lit match into the pile of kindling in the bottom. It caught at once, and soon there was a crackling orange flame inside the stove. Nahum turned to the coal scuttle, which sat on the floor next to the stove. He picked up the coal scoop and deposited several shovelfuls of coal into the open stove door, where they landed with a loud clatter and a shower of sparks. Nahum shut the door and pushed aside a small round door which was held in place with a single rivet. Nahum felt the end of his finger burn. It was already hot. Ignoring the throbbing blister already rising on the end of his finger, he turned back to his desk and rummaged through the still open drawer. He eventually found what he was looking for and extracted and a small bellows. Nahum interested the end of the nozzle into the small opening and pumped the bellows several times. The flame inside the stove grew hotter and the pile of coal started to burn. Kneeling so closely to the stove, Nahum could feel its heat on his face.  
He stood up and held his hands over the hot stove, feeling the warmth against his palms. After a a second or two he turned away and walked over to his desk. He pulled out the chair and sat down. Nahum began to sort the pile of letters and telegrams that Toby had collected for him while he had been away on business. A letter from the Sagamore Millinery Company caught his eye. Nahum opened a drawer in his desk and produced a letter opener. He slit open the envelope, pulled out the letter, opened and read it. He frowned slightly upon reading the contents. The Sagamore Millinery Company wanted an order of a hundred and fifty machines and wanted them immediately. He would have to write back to them and tell them that it would be some time before the company would be able fulfil any orders at all. They would probably lose the business, which was unfortunate. Such a larger order would go a long way to clearing their loans with the bank.   
Nahum set the letter aside, picked up a telegram and read it. It was from the Seattle Haberdashers’ Society. Nahum quietly perused the telegram and noticed an envelope with the same Seattle address underneath he picked it up, slit open the envelope and pulled out a short letter and the pamphlet they had sent along with it. He quickly read through them both. The members of the Seattle Haberdashers’ Society wanted him to come out to the west coast and talk about the machine. Nahum, frowned to himself. It was tempting. Thus far, all of his meetings had been one on one. The prospect of talking to a roomful of people was tempting, but his most recent business trip had been expensive and it would still be some time before the factory would be up and running. Nahum set it aside. He would have to to Simeon and Chester about the possibility of another business trip.   
He spent the rest of the morning sorting and through and responding to his unanswered mail. In addition to the letter from the Sagamore Millinery Company and the telegram and pamphlet from the Seattle Haberdashers’ Society, there were six others. Nahum opened them and quickly read through them. Of the six, three were consequential. The first was from Stetson, confirming an order of two hundred machines. Well, that’s something, thought Nahum. Two hundred cutting machines wouldn’t completely pay down their loans with the bank, but it would definitely help. Nahum put the letter back in its envelope and put it down on his desk next to the letters from the Sagamore Millinery Company and the Seattle Haberdashers’ Society. He picked up a third letter. The address was from San Francisco Haberdashers Incorporated. Nahum slit open the envelope and took out the folded piece of paper. He quickly read through the letter. Nahum felt a rush of excitement. San Francisco Haberdashers Inc was the largest produced of hats on the west coast. Their board of directors had earmarked a considerable sum of money to for upgrading their equipment and wanted to see a demonstration. Nahum read the letter again and frowned thoughtfully. Could they actually manage a demonstration? San Francisco Haberdashers owned three factories. If we can land this contract, thought Nahum, we can pay down all of our debts in a single stroke and we might even turn a profit too. He would have to talk Simeon, Chester and Elias to work out the details, he thought.  
Nahum’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at his office door. “Come in,” he said. The door opened and Nahum looked up to find Toby framed in the door way. “Something I can help you with?” asked Nahum.  
For half a second, Toby looked as if he had been caught in the lights of an oncoming train. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mr.Goddard,” replied Toby, gabbling slightly, “Mr. Prendergast and Mr. Tabor, would like you to come downstairs to the factory floor right away.”  
Nahum nodded and got up. He stepped out from behind his desk, crossed the room in a couple of strides and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a snap. He set off the down the hall, with Toby following along in his wake. He reached the end of the hall, went through the door on to the landing and down the steps to the factory floor. The clatter of his footsteps on the metal staircase was lost in the cacophony of noise echoing off the walls.  
Nahum paused momentarily upon reaching the bottom of the staircase. The factory floor was a scene of controlled chaos. Workmen in coveralls and leather aprons were bustling in every direction. Torrents of sparks flew from spinning lathes and the air was filled with shouts and curses. Nahum spotted a knot of people on the far side of the factory and made his over to it, threading his through the maze until he arrived at the edge of the crowd.  
The crowd of workmen parted at his approach and he made his way into the centre of the knot of people. Horace Tabor and Elias Prendergast were standing in the middle of circle of people. Spread in front of them across the surface of a large work table, where the plans that. Nahum had poured over several months ago with Simeon, Elias and Horace. He motioned for Toby to go. Toby nodded and disappeared into the crowd, wending his way through the maze back over to the stairs that led up to the offices overlooking the factory floor.  
Nahum turned his attention back to Elias and Horace. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.  
Elias Prendergast was the factory foreman. He turned to face Nahum. “We’ve run into a problem that we hadn’t anticipated,” he said. He gestured to the large stamping machines that towered over everything else I the factory. They were thirty feet tall and consisted of a large and heavy looking hammer suspended in a vertical frame. At the bottom of the hammer was a void space where a sturdy metal die would sit. High pressure steam was injected into a piston at the top, which forced the head of the hammer down at a high velocity on to the die, or at least that’s how it was supposed to work.   
Through a gap in the the circle of workmen surrounding Elias and Horace, Nahum noticed that the other stamping machines were lying disassembled and in pieces on the floor. “What kind of problem?” asked Nahum.  
“Watch.” Elias turned and signalled one of the factory workers. He was standing at the base of the one erect stamping machine.The man nodded and pulled down on a lever. The head of the hammer rose thirty feet into the air and stopped, hovering in anticipation over the anvil at the bottom. It stayed there for only a moment or two before the braking mechanism was released and it dropped rapidly back down on to the anvil, which it struck with a deep BONG! But even before it hit, Nahum could tell that something was wrong.  
Elias leaned over and half shouted in Nahum’s ear. “Do you see the problem?” he asked.  
Nahum nodded. He thought so, but he need to be sure. “Have him do it again.”  
Elias nodded and waved to the workman, who nodded in return and pulled down on the lever again. As before, hammer dropped rapidly and hit the anvil with a sound like a ringing bell. This time, Nahum was almost certain, but he had them repeat the operation one more time. Yes, he thought, as the hammer head fell for the third time. There’s definitely a problem here. The hammer isn’t striking with enough force. He turned to Elias and Horace. “How much pressure are you getting at the top of the piston before you drop the hammer?”  
Horace fished in the pockets of his coveralls and pulled out a small notepad. He began flipping through the pages until he found the one he wanted. “Eight hundred PSI,” he replied.  
Nahum was shaking his head even before Horace had finished. He ran some quick mental calculations. Elias and Horace traded a look. They had had eight stamping machines shipped from Brooks and Son Iron Mongers in Pittsburg. Each machine required 1,500 pound of pressure to operate at the needed capacity that Nahum and Simeon had calculated they would need to fill the orders they expected to have. Nahum frowned thoughtfully. They had calculated that they would need a total of 12,000 pounds of steam pressure at any given time in order to run all eight stamping machines at full capacity. The building’s boiler was more than capable of putting out that kind of pressure. Nahum thought for several seconds, working over the problem in his mind.   
He examined it from every possible angle and came to only one conclusion. Nahum cast his gaze upward at the tangle of pipes overhead. “Have you checked for steam leaks?” he asked.  
Elias and Horace both shook their heads. “No,” replied Horace, “we can not find any faults with this machine, or the component parts of any of the others that we have examined,” he gestured to the various parts and open packing crates that lay scattered around the general vicinity.   
“But we wanted a second opinion,” finished Elias.  
Nahum nodded thoughtfully in response. Checking for a steam leak was a time consuming but straight forward process. All of the machinery in the factory ran on the steam produced by the factory’s two stationary boilers. Between them they produced fifty thousand pounds of pressure per square inch. The steam from the boilers was injected into a stationary reciprocating engine, which was connected to an elaborate series of belts, which turn turned all of the machinery. The waste steam from the reciprocating engine was intended to be used to drive the eight stamping machines. “Are both boilers lit?” asked.  
Elias shook his head. The factory had two boilers, but usually one was more than sufficient for the factory’s needs.   
Nahum turned to Elias and Horace. “Come with me,” he said. Nahum turned started walking. Elias and Horace fell in behind him. The three men threaded their way through the factory toward the back. They passed under the managers’ offices and turned down a side corridor. Nahum found himself in another warren of rooms and offices. There was noticeable difference between these and the ones up stairs. The offices just off the factory floor had a slight grimy, utilitarian feel. The largest office was Elias’. It was only about two thirds the size of Nahum’s. A slightly battered looking oil lamp stood on the corner of a roll top desk. Its finish was scratched and discoloured. The varnish was peeling from the wood in places. The floor was covered in a slightly threadbare rug and an ancient looking Franklin stove stood in one corner.   
They kept walking past Elias’ office and down the narrow hallway. Most of the doors they passed were closed. One or two were open and led into small cramped offices. Several of Chester’s accounting clerks sat on wooden stools laboriously entering figures into ledger books. Nahum, Elias and Horace reached the end of the hall and came to a slightly shabby metal door. A muffled din and the smell of coal soot and hot lubricant seeped out from under the door. Nahum opened the door and the muffled din became a defeating roar. They stepped into the engine house and shut the door. The two horizontal beam engines filled the room. They were twenty feet long and had been barged down the Charles River from Massington and Co Iron Foundry in Hopkinton. Jets of steam hissed loudly from their pressure relief valves and their rocker arms see-sawed slowly back and forth. Their large flywheels, each around twenty feel in diameter turned lazily as the two pistons steadily stroked in and out with a loud chuffing noise like a locomotive. Three men were moving around the two steam engines. They were all dressed in greasy blue coveralls.  
Elias cupped his hands to his mouth. “HUB!” he shouted. An older man, in his late forties and gone slightly to seed, turned at the sound of his name. Elias had to shout in order to be heard over the din. “HUB!” he called again.  
The heavy set man turned at the sound of his name. He was bald and had a handlebar moustache. He gestured to one of the greasers, who hurried over at once and handed man the long spouted oil can in his hand. The greaser took it and went off to continue oiling the large steam engine. Hub Hoxy extricated himself from the corner behind where the steam engine’s large flywheel turned slowly. He walked down the aisle between the two steam engines. Nahum. Elias and Horace met him in the middle.  
“Elias,” he said, “this must be important. You don’t usually come in here.”  
“We have a pressure problem,” replied Nahum. “We don’t have enough steam pressure to run the stamping machines at the rate we to in order make our production targets.”  
“Have you noticed any problems?”asked Elias.  
Hub shook his head and the other three men exchanged thoughtful frowns. Hub’s assertion that operations in the engine house were normal were perplexing and not what they wanted to hear. “Never the less,” replied Elias, “we’d like to look at the boilers.”  
Hub shrugged, turned and started walking. He gestured with a wave of his arm, “c’mon,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

Stubbs and Goddard General Manufacturers  
Roxbury, Massachusetts   
March, 1883

Nahum, Elias and Horace fell into line behind Hub as he walked toward the door at the far end of the engine house. He pulled it open and the four of them went through it. As soon as Nahum went through the door leading into the boiler house, he felt as though he had walked into a wall. It was almost intolerably hot. Nahum felt the beads of perspiration standing on his forehead as he walked through the door. The air was thick with the smell of coal dust. A loud rhythmic clang echoed off the walls, from the regular opening and closing of a metal door as the two stokers steadily fed shovelfuls of coal in the gaping maw of the boiler.  
One end of the boiler house was occupied by two large boilers. They were tall, cylindrical and about ten feet in diameter. The air was filled hum of fans as they drew smoke from the coal fire up and out of the boiler, in the smoke box and out of the factory’s smokestack. A pair of pipes ran from the top of the two boilers to a condenser, where the steam generated by the interaction of water in the boiler tubes and the heat of the coal fires combined to make steam. The steam was then injected into the two steam engines, which turned a system of belts that powered all of the factory’s machinery. At the opposite end of boiler house from were the two boilers sat amid shimmering waves of heat, a large door stood open to the outside. A chilly wind gusted into the space, freezing the sweat on Nahum’s forehead and he shivered involuntarily. Just beyond the open door, under a large metal awning stood a large pile of coal. Nahum estimate that that it stood about twenty feet high. Several men with wheelbarrows were going back and forth between the boilers and the coal pile. They tipped the wheelbarrows full of coal into a pile on to the floor just in front of the boilers. The two stokers feeding the boilers shovelled the coal in the gaping maw, while the two rakers thrust a pair long-handled iron takes into the boiler’s open mouth, evening out the bed of glowing coals so that they burned more evenly.   
One of the rakers looked up amid the clatter of shovels and rakes, and the steady clang of the boiler doors and the tramp of footsteps. He turned to his partner and nudged him in the ribs. “Hey,” he said, he eyed, Nahum, Elias and Horace in their fastidiously nest suits. They looked conspicuously out of place amid the heat the noise of the boiler house, particularly next to Hub Hoxy, in his greasy blue coveralls.   
His partner looked up as he felt the elbow in his ribs. “We don’t see them down here very often,” he said to his partner, who shook his head in reply. “I wonder what’s up.”  
Nahum, Elias, Horace and Hub stopped in front of the stokers and raker steadily feeding the boiler. One of the stokers stood up straight and leaned casually on his shovel. He was a broad shouldered muscular man. His face was so thick with coal dust that it was impossible to tell what colour he was. His were covered in callouses. His eyes flicked from Nahum, Elias and Horace to Hub, and back again as if Hub had allowed interlopers into his personal kingdom.  
“Something I can help you with Mr. Hoxy?” he asked.  
Hub nodded. “I’m looking for the shift foreman,” he said.   
The man nodded. “Sure,” he casually jerked big thumb over to a shabby looking door in the far corner of the boiler house. “Mr. Magnusson was in his office, last I knew.”  
Far away from the heat, thought Nahum, thank God.  
Hub nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He turned away from the oppressive waves of rippling heat radiating from the single lit boiler and Nahum was glad to follow him. If it was this hot in March with only one boiler lit, he couldn’t help but wonder how the stokers managed when both boilers were lit at the same time.  
They found Arnold Magnusson’s office behind a shabby looking door in a corner behind a cluster of pipes. Elias knocked and a gruff voice with distance Norwegian accent said, “come in.”  
Elias pushed the door open and the four of them piled into a very cramped office. It was shabby looking, and slightly grimy. A thin film of coal have settled over everything. The four of them plus Magnusson only barely in the room, which was more like a glorified broom closet.  
Arnold looked up as the four men piled through the door. “Something I can help you with?” he he asked as Nahum, Elias, Horace and Hub pressed themselves in Arnold’s office. The room was very tiny.Ot was really more like a glorified broom closet. Most of the interior space was occupy a very battered looking desk. The surface of the desk was occupied by a leather blotter, an ink well and a cup with a collection of fountain pens in a ceramic cup. Wedged into one corner of the already too small office was a battered looking filing cabinet. The room was lit by a single overhead gas lamp.  
“Mr. Magnusson,” said Elias.  
“Mr. Prendergast,” replied Arnold coolly.   
From the way the two men spoke to each other, Nahum got the sense that there was some sort of pre-existing feud between them. Exactly what it was, Nahum had not the slightest idea, he had never met Arnold before today.  
For half a second, Arnold looked as if he was about to ask them to have a seat, but he suddenly remembered that he was sitting in the only chair. “How can I help you?” he asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest.  
Nahum nodded, “yes,” he said, “we think we have a boiler problem,” and he proceeded to quickly outline the situation with the stamping machines.   
Arnold listened impassively until Nahum finished talking. He shook his head as soon as Nahum was finished. “No,” he said in his thick Norwegian accent, “no, absolutely not, there is nothing wrong with my boilers.”  
“And yet, we don’t have the steam pressure we should in to run the stamping machines at the rate we need to in order to fill our orders,” replied Elias evenly. He eyed Arnold as he spoke. “What do you think would happen if we can’t fill our orders.”  
Arnold was silent for a long time, as if considering Elias’ words. On the one hand, Arnold Magnusson saw the boiler house as his own personal fiefdom and resented intrusion from outsiders, even from Hub. He also hated even the slightest insinuation that his boilers, and they were his boilers, were in nothing less than perfect working order, and yet he hated the suggestion that they weren’t. The very idea was insulting, and yet the idea that his boilers might have a problem that he didn’t know about and had gone unresolved was something that he found unbearable. For a second or two, he considered simply throwing the lot of them out of his office. Instead, Arnold heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. He seemed to take up even more of the tiny office than when he was sitting behind his desk. The others piled out the room and back into the waves of rippling heat as Arnold stumped out of his office and into the boiler house.  
“GREEN! BENNET!” He shouted above the clamour of the shovels, rakes and wheelbarrows. His voice cut like a knife through the din and everything stopped at once. The two men dropped their shovels, which fell to the floor with a clatter. They hurried over to where Arnold was stumping across the room toward the two boilers from his office, with a sour look on his face.   
“Yes, boss?” asked Green in a thick Brooklyn accent.  
Arnold jerked his head toward a door next to his office, labelled “Tool Room.”  
“Get the hand pump, the hose and the big monkey wrench,” he said.  
Green and Bennett nodded and walked over the tool room. A minute or two later, they returned, staggering under the weight of a heavy looking pump made of a single piece of cast iron. They dropped it and it fell to the floor with a dull metallic clang that echoed loudly off the walls. Green turned and waved to two of the men trudging back and forth between the coal pile and the boilers. “Hey!” he said, shouting above the clamour. “Walters, Thompson, come over here a minute.”  
Walters and Thompson put down their wheelbarrows piled high with coal. “What do you need?” asked Walters.  
Bennett gestured to heavy hand pump, which require two people to operate. “Boss has something in mind,” he said, “not sure what, but he wants the pump, the hose and the big monkey wrench.”  
“Just stay here by the pump and wait for instructions,” interjected Green.  
Walters and Thompson nodded together in understanding. They used their wheelbarrows off to one side and waited while Bennett and Green went back to the Tool Room. They returned a minute or two later, theirs arms ladened with a pair of coiled hoses, extra gaskets and a heavy duty looking monkey wrench. They deposited the collection of tools and spare parts on top of the hand pump and set about unwinding the hose. Green took one end of one the hoses and the monkey wrench in his hands and walked over to a pipe in the corner. He turned a valve and shut off the flow of water from the water main. He then took the money wrench and set about removing a end cap just above the valve he had closed. The aperture had circular locking mechanism and Green inserted the end of the hose and twisted it, locking it securely in place. At the other end of the hose, Bennett was affixing the other end to the hand pump.   
After a second or two, he took the other hose and set about connecting the hand pump to the boiler. He whistled across the floor of the boiler house and Green, Walters, Thompson and Arnold turned at the high pitched sound. Bennet waved and gave the others a thumbs up to indicate that everything was connected.   
Arnold nodded, turned to where Green was still standing next to the water main shut off valve and gestured. Green, who had been waiting for the signal, nodded in return. He turned back to the shut off valve and gave it a quarter of a turn. He could hear the water gurgling faintly in the pipe. The hose, which had been lying flaccid on the boiler house floor, suddenly became hard and ridge as the water coursed through it. It writhed back and forth like a snake as the water filled all of the folds and crevices in the hose until it had reached its maximum extent. Walters and Thompson took hold of the hand pump’s long handles and began pumping the water through the hose connected to the unlit boiler. Like the other hose, it became increasingly rigid as it filled with water, but it moved much more sluggishly as the water coursing through it was doing so at a much slower rate. Arnold watched as the hose twisted lazily across the floor he followed its gyrations, walking from the pump over to the boiler, where Bennett had his ear pressed to its curved flank. He was listening for the sound of water in the boiler tubes. He was also listening for the steady drip-drip-drip of a leak.  
Arnold was joined by Hub and Elias. They all produced small a small stethoscope, which they pressed and against the curved side of the boiler. They listened carefully. The steady gurgle of water in the boiler tubes echoed loudly. Elias frowned slightly to himself, Arnold was smirking slightly, believing that he had been vindicated and that there was nothing wrong with his boilers. Elias stood up, ignoring Arnold’s triumphant look. Nahum joined him.   
‘What is it?” asked Nahum.  
Elias didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the tangle of piping coming out of the top of the two boilers. “There’s definitely a problem,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s with the boiler.”  
Nahum began to follow him, also training his eyes on the maze of overhead pipes. Both men were watching and listening for the steady drip of a steam leak. After a short time, Nahum heard it, the rhythmic plunk of a drop of water falling into a puddle. Elias must have heard it too, because he turned at almost the same time Nahum did.  
He gestured toward a cluster of pipes and gages in a corner. Nahum walked slowly towards it, still trying to ascertain exactly where the dripping noise was coming from. Something on the floor caught his eye. A thin trickle of water was flowing out from under the tangled cluster of pipes. He turned and nudged Elias, who had beee studying a T-junction near the ceiling.  
He turned as he felt Nahum’s elbow in his ribs. “What is it?” he asked.  
Nahum pointed. “I think the leak is coming from over in that corner.”  
Elias turned to and looked at where Nahum was pointing. He paused for a moment, listening. Then he heard the steady plunk-plunk-plunk of dripping water, as if from a leaky pipe. A second or two after that he caught sight of the thin stream of water flowing across the floor. Nahum and Elias followed the small rivulet of water back to the cluster of pipes in the corner. They crouched down together, heedless of the thin film of soot on the floor. Nahum dipped his fingers into the thin stream of water. It was still slightly warm. Elias began to run his hands over the pipes and gages, searching for moisture. He found it on the far side of an elbow behind right in the back corner.   
Elias turned to Nahum. “Do you feel it?” he asked.  
Nahum nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “it’s still warm too.”  
Elias frowned thoughtfully.”Yes,” he replied, nodding his head in agreement, “the leak must becoming from the lit boiler.”  
Nahum nodded again. “We need to check the other boiler.”


	11. Chapter 11

Stubbs and Goddard General Manufacturers Inc.  
Roxbury, Massachusetts   
March, 1883

Nahum got up, brushed the dust and soot from the knees of his trousers and went to find Arnold and Hub. He found them a few minutes later. He found them gesticulating wildly at each other. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying over the background clamour of the boiler house, but he gathered that they seemed t9 have accused each other of being the source of the drop in steam pressure. He immediately decided that he didn’t really care about their argument. He coughed extra loudly to cut through din. The two men turned and looked at him.  
“What is it?” asked Arnold irritably. “I though we already settled this nonsense-,” he said.  
Nahum interrupted. “Pardon me,” he said, “but we’ve found where the steam is condensing out as water.”  
“And,” replied Arnold, openly gloating, “where is it?”  
Nahum gestured, pointing back over his shoulder to the way he had come, “it’s over here,” he said. “I’ll show you.” He turned and walked back to the cluster of pipes in the corner, with Hub and Arnold in tow. They found Elias still on his knees, examining the cluster of pipes in the corner. He got up at the sound of their approaching footsteps. He dusted the dirt of the factory floor off of the knees of his trousers and turned to face them.   
Arnold scowled at him. “Alright, Prendergast, what non-existent problem have you found this time?”   
Elias gestured to the corner. “Why don’t you take a look,” he replied.  
Arnold shot a foul look at Elias, as if the factory foreman had said something offensive, but he stumped forward and bent down to look at the leak. His scowl deepened. “Alright,” he said after several minutes, “so there’s a leak, so what? That doesn’t mean that there’s a problem with my boilers.”  
Elias sighed. “We have no way to determine that without testing the other boiler,” he replied. “We need to douse the fire in boiler #1 and light boiler #2.” He turned Green and Bennett who had been hovering on the edge of the conversation. Several of the others had also started to drift in their direction.  
Arnold started to protest, “now wait just a minute,” he said, “you can’t-“ but Elias cut him off.  
“Yes I can,” he replied. “I am responsible for ensuring that this factory gets up and running quickly.” He turned to Bennett and Green. “Go and douse the fire,” he said, “and send Thomlinson to start taking this apart.” They nodded and went off to put out the fire and look for Thomlinson. He appeared ten minutes later. He was a broad shouldered man with a narrow waist, big hands and muscular forearms. A heavy looking, long handled wrench swung idly from one hand and a well worn toolbox hung from the other one. He set down the tool box with a solid sounding thump.   
“You asked to see me, Mr. Prendergast?” he asked.   
Elias nodded. “Yes, I did,” he replied. “We have a leaking pipe in this corner,” he gestured, sticking his thumb over his shoulder. “We think it’s preventing us from running the stamping machines at full capacity. We need to take this apart in order to fix the leak.”  
Thomlinson nodded in understanding. He bent over and flipped open the latches on his took box. He lifted the lid and took out a neatly folded tarp. He unfolded it and laid it on the ground. He got down on his knees and inspected the assemblage of pipes and gages. After a minute or two, he turned a turn a small red knob near the middle of the tangle of pipes. One after another, the needles in the various gages all dropped to zero. He turned back to his tool box and produced a series of tools. He laid them out one by one on the tarp next to his tool box. Hammers of various sizes, joined several wrenched, a pressure gage and a metal file on the tarp, which was crisscrossed with sharp crease from where it had been folded. It was patched and stained in several places, which suggested long and repeated use. Thomlinson cast his eye over the assemblage of pipes and gages one last time, memorizing its configuration, and set about disassembling it. It took him approximately half an hour. He methodically laid all the various pipes, flanges, baskets, elbow bends and gages on the tarp next to the varied assortment of tools he had taken out of his tool box.   
He applied a wrench to the spot where the leaking elbow bend was connected to a straight section of pipe. He gripped the wrench tightly and tried to loosed the elbow bend. The piece of piping didn’t move. Thomlinson put the wrench down on the tarp next to the various other tools and plumbing parts and reached into his tool box again. This time he pulled out a heavy looking monkey wrench and an equally heavy mallet. He held the monkey wrench at a forty five degree angle as he turned the metal knob and tightened its grip, fastening it securely to the pipe. When he was sure that it was going to move, he picked up the five pound mallet. He hefted once or twice, as if testing its weight, then he brought the head of the mallet down on the handle of the money wrench in a carefully measured blow. It budged a little and the elbow joint turned slightly. Thomlinson reset the money wrench and hit it again. It budged a little more. He reset the apparatus again. In the end, it took a total of six blows from the mallet to loosen the elbow joint, which eventually fell to the floor with a clatter. Thomlinson picked it up and examined it carefully. A thin hairline crack ran a third of the way around the circumference of the joint.   
Thomlinson examined the elbow joint for another minute or two before putting it down on the tarp next to the various tools and assorted gages and bits of piping. He rummaged in his tool box again and produced a small portable stove, a crucible, tongs, a plug of solder and a greasy bag full of small chunks of coal, scraps of wood and bits of paper. He poured some of the contents of the bag into a pan under the stove. He struck a flint and a shower of sparks flew from the flint and landed in the pile of coal and greasy scraps of wood and paper. They smouldered gently for a minute or two. Thomlinson reached into his tool box again and pulled out a small bellows. He puffed some air into the smouldering pile and kindled it into flames. He picked up the small crucible and placed it on the stove over the fire. He broke off some of the solder and dropped into the crucible. He sat and wait for several minutes. It melted slowly, congealing into a dull grey pool at the bottom of the crucible. When it had fully melted he picked the long-handled pair of tongs. He fastened their curved jaws around the crucible and picked it up. Holding the end of the tongs firmly in his right hand, Thomlinson reached over and picked the elbow bend off of the tarp. He held it in his hand and carefully tipped the crucible full of lead solder on the pipe, pouring it in a line over the hairline crack that ran most of the way around the circumstance of the joint.  
The liquid lead seeped into the thin crack. Thomlinson held it very carefully In his hand, the molten lead was still very hot. His hand were crisscrossed with scars and burns from a hundred or minor accidents over the course of his life. He put the now mined elbow bend on the tarp next to the various other parts and tools. He picked up the long handled tongs again and once again wrapped their curved jaws around the small crucible. He picked up it up, set it on the floor to cool and turned his attention back to the contents of the tarp. He picked the elbow bend again and examined it carefully once more. A hair thin ribbon of dull silver wound its way around the circumference of the pipe. He reached into his tool box and again produced a small metal canteen full of water. Thomlinson unscrewed the top of the canteen and poured some water on the fire in the small pan under the stove. It hissed loudly and went out with a little cloud of steam. He picked up the pan, which was still hot, with the tongs and dumped the ashes into and out of the way corner.  
He turned his attention once again back to the various items scattered on the time. He picked up the elbow bend, which by now had completely cooled, along with a wrench. He put the elbow bend back in position and, holding it steady with began to apply the torque from the wrench to tighten it. After a few quick turns, was snugly back in its original position. He let go of it and began reached for the next length of piping. Working carefully from memory, it took Thomlinson about an hour to reconstruct the tangle of pipes and gages. He had to stop twice and partially disassemble his work first when he realized that he had a fixed a pressure valve in the wrong orientation and again when there was a gap between two lengths of pipe that had existed previously. Eventually, Thomlinson was satisfied with his work. He examined the tangled mass of pipes and gages one more time, then turned back to his tools, which lay scattered on the tarp. He picked them up and carefully replaced them, one by one, back in his tool chest. When he was finished, he turned his attention back to the small stove and the pan. They had mostly cooled and he picked them up with his bare hands, tucking them into a corner of his tool chest. He picked up the tarp, carefully folded it and replaced in its original position on top of the various other tools in the tool chest. He closed the lid and replaced the latches with a metallic snap. He had picked up his tool box and turned when he suddenly turned, remembering something. He put down his tool chest again and walked back to the pipes and gages he had just finished reassembling. He thrust hand in the maze of pipes and found the knob was he was looking for. Thomlinson turned it and and cast an eye toward the various gages. The needles jumped as the steam flowed back into the lines. They flickered back and forth for a few seconds and then held steady.  
Satisfied, Thomlinson picked up his tool chest again and turned walked away, threading his way through the maze of piping and machinery, back toward the where the two boilers sat amid the waves of rippling heat. He found Elias, Nahum, Hub and Arnold standing amid frenetic activity. The coal pile from boiler #1 sat steaming on the floor, where it had been raked out of the boiler’s furnace and doused with water. Bennett and Green had disconnected the hose and pump from boiler #2 and were in the process of dragging the hose across the boiler house floor to the other boiler. They connected the hose to the still warm boiler and began pumping water through it. The flaccid hose became fat and rigid again as the water from the main gurgled through it. A hissing sound emanated from the boiler as the cold water gushed into the hot boiler tubes.   
Elias reached into his pocket once again and pulled out his stethoscope again. He leaned in close to the boiler. He could feel the waves of heat emanating from the still cooling boiler. Once again, Arnold joined him. The two men listened carefully as the water hissed and gurgled its way through the maze of pipes inside the boiler. Elias and Arnold listened for what seemed like a long time. The boiler’s residual heat left beads of sweat standing on Elias’ forehead. For a second or two, he wasn’t sure he heard it and   
listened for longer than he really needed to. After another minute or two, he though he heard the steady, echoing drip-drip-drip of water dripping from a leaking pipe. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Arnold, who was scowling darkly.   
Elias had to stop himself from openly chuckling at Arnold’s bad mood. He would be more prickly than usual until the boiler was fixed, which would take time. Arnold was already shouting orders. “Bennet! Green!” The two men started at the sound of their names being bellowed from half way across the boiler house and came running. He gestured at the other boiler. “Get this boiler lit,” he said. “We’re taking this off-line for repairs.” His face seemed to screw up slightly at the last word, like he had just bit into a lemon, as if the word “repairs” had left a sour taste in his mouth. “Thomlinson!” he barked.   
Thomlinson stopped at the sound of his name. He turned and walked over to where Arnold was standing. “Get the boiler smith,” he said, “we’re taking this boiler off-line for repairs.” Saying it a second didn’t make it any better.  
Thomlinson nodded. He turned and disappeared into the tangled maze of the boiler house. After a few minutes, he returned to with a red faced man with large hands covered with callouses. “You sent for me, Mr. Magnusson?” asked Fullerton.  
Elias had wandered over from between the two boilers to where Arnold and Fullerton were standing. “We have a boiler that needs to be repaired,” he said before Arnold could open his mouth. Arnold ‘s darkened again at these words, but he didn’t say anything.  
Fullerton nodded and turned his attention to Elias. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Prendergast?” he asked.  
“We’re not entirely sure,” he replied, “we think one of the boiler tubes is leaking.”  
Fullerton frowned thoughtfully in response to these words. Fixing a leaking boiler tube was no small undertaking. Each boiler had thousands of feet of tubing which allowed the water circulating through the boiler to be boiled into steam. Finding and repairing a leaking boiler tube would require allowing the the boiler to go cold and each boiler tube would have to be removed and individually inspected. The process was a slow and laborious one. “It will take a day or two to allow the boiler to completely cool down,” he said.  
Elias nodded in understanding. “Nevertheless,” he replied, “it’s important that we find and fix the leak as quickly as possible. We need to get the stamping machines up to speed. We have orders piling up and need top get the factory on its feet as quickly as possible.”


	12. Chapter 12

Late Winter, 1884

It took two weeks the find and fix the leak in the boiler. As Fullerton had anticipated, the processor finding the had been a slow and laborious one. Fixing the the boiler had necessitated removing several of the heavy plates that formed the boiler’s outer shell. They lay piled on a pallet on a corner of the boiler house. The boiler tubes were carefully removed and inspected for damage. Several of them were old and corroded. Fullerton inspected them carefully. They didn’t appear to be cracked, but he decided that he would replace them anyway. It wasn’t until a week into the process that the workers found two burst boiler tubes.   
He inspected them carefully. Their thin metal walls had been peeled back like flower petals. He cast a quick glance from the rent and twisted tubes and the cluster of tubes that they had come from, deep in the guts of the boiler. Several others were also bent. He nodded at his two apprentice boilersmiths and gestured to the boiler. “Make sure you remove those as well,” he said. They nodded and returned to their work. Fullerton watched his two apprentices work for a while, as they continued to remove and inspect the boiler tubes. Something about the about the condition of the boiler felt off and he ran through everything in his mind, trying to determine what it could be. He eyed the split and rent boiler tubes again and it suddenly hit him. The metal is too thin, he thought, and in that moment, he decided that maybe talking to Mr. Prendergast or Mr. Stubbs was in order. He turned to his two apprentices. “Keep working,” he said. They nodded in understanding. “I have somethings I need to look into.”  
Fullerton turned and walked away from them. He threaded his through the tangled maze of the boiler house. After a few minutes he reached the door to the engine house. He pulled it open and immediately felt his ear drums throb as they were assaulted by the demeaning noise of the two slowly turning steam engines. He made his way across down the aisle between the two steam engines that powered the factory. He pulled open the door at the other end and stepped on to the production floor. The air was filled with the babble of voices and the hum of machinery. The rhythmic deep bass thud of the stamping machines echoed off the walls. They stood like steam powered monoliths on the other side of the factory. Their stamping heads rose and fell with a fast, steady motion.   
He made his way to the bottom of the stairs that led up the offices and quickly mounted them. After a couple of seconds he reached the small landing at the top of the stairs, crossed it and pulled open the door. He stepped into the carpeted hallway and shut the door behind him. The din rising from the factory floor became distant and muffled. A door opened and appeared.  
“Mr. Fullerton,” asked Nahum in slight surprise, “we don’t often see you up here. Is there something I can help you with?”  
Fullerton nodded.”I need some information,” he replied.  
“What kind of information?” asked Nahum. He didn’t know why, but something made him perk up. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he supposed that it might just be Arnold Maguson’s prickly nature and the way that he didn’t like anyone poking around with his boilers.   
“Well, we’ve been working on fixing the boiler for Mr. Magnuson,” he began. He spoke for ten minutes detailing the condition of the boiler and what they had found inside. Nahum listened, nodded occasionally, as Fullerton spoke, aware of the issues with the boilers, having been there when they had been discovered. “I’d like to see the maintenance records and parts orders for the boilers,” he finished. “I think part of the problem we’ve had is that the boiler tubes are too thin.”  
Nahum nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face, as he listened to Fullerton talk. When he was finished Nahum said, “why don’t you step into my office.” He gestured to the open door and stepped inside. Fullerton followed him. Nahum gestured to the two chairs opposite his desk, which was covered in papers, letters and telegrams. “Have a seat,” he said. Fullerton sat down and Nahum walked over to a corner and tugged on a bell pull. A second or two later the door opened again. Tobias entered.  
“You rang, Mr. Goddard?” he asked.  
“Oh, yes, Tobias,” replied Nahum. “I need some you to pull paperwork,” he glanced quickly at Fullerton, who took this as his cue.   
“I need to see the maintenance records and parts orders for the boilers,” he said.  
Tobias produced a pencil and notebook from somewhere and scribbled down some notes. “Please excuse me,” he said. He went out again, shutting the door behind him with a snap. He returned ten minutes later with a sheaf of papers and a thick log book under his arm. Tobias placed them on Nahum’s desk. Fullerton picked up several of the parts orders and looked through them. They appeared to be in order. Fullerton frowned thoughtfully. Could he have over estimated the damage to the boiler? He thought for a second. He supposed it was possible, but he doubted it. Fullerton finished looking through the parts orders. He put them back on Nahum’s desk and picked up the maintenance log. It was thick and heavy and felt slightly grimy, as it were covered in a thin film of oil. Fullerton opened it and immediately noticed something wrong. “Look at this,” he said. He handed the log book back to Nahum, who took it and began to flick through the pages. Some of the pages were crinkled and spotted with oil. They were covered here and there with spidery black writing. Nahum frowned to himself, staring closely at the stained and wrinkled pages.  
“There are entries missing,” he said, continuing to turn the pages.   
Fullerton scowled in response. “Magnusson has been remiss properly logging the necessary maintenance activities.”  
“Yes,” replied Nahum darkly. He had thought it odd that Tobias had come back so quickly with the all the necessary paperwork. Arnold brooked no intrusions into his domain, but perhaps, thought Nahum, his employment might be coming to an end. Nahum sighed in frustration. He got up and walked over to the pull cord in the corner. He tugged on it and he heard the bell faintly tinkling in the other room. A second or two later, he heard the creak of someone getting out of a chair, followed by foot steps and the opening and closing of a door. Nahum heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, then his office door opened. Tobias was framed in the door way.  
“You called for me, Mr. Goddard?”  
Nahum nodded. “Yes I did,” he replied. “I need you to run along and get Simeon and Elias for me.”  
Tobias nodded, turned on his heel and went out, shutting the door behind him with a snap. A couple of minutes later, Nahum’s parter and the factory foreman entered his office. Nahum took a moment to register the shared look of surprise worn by the two other men at the sight of Fullerton in Nahum’s office.  
“George,” said Simeon, “we don’t often see you up in our neck of the woods. Is something else wrong with the boiler?”  
Fullerton and Nahum traded a look, then Fullerton shook his head.”Well, yes and no,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “I have my two apprentices pulling all the damaged tubes out of the boiler.”  
Simeon and Elias traded a confused look. “So what’s all this about?” asked Elias.   
“I had a feeling that something was off,” replied Fullerton, “there were more damaged tubes than I had anticipated, soI came up here looking to talk to Mr. Goodwin.” He paused. “I wanted to see the parts invoices and the boiler maintenance log.”  
Nahum continued. “All the parts invoices were in good order,” he said, “so we turned our attention to the maintenance records, and well-,” he trailed off. He picked up the heavy book and handed it to Simeon, who took it began to flick through its oily pages. His eyes ran down the pages. He began to frown. As he turned the pages, his frown deepened a scowl. He recognized Magnusson’s handwriting. From the look on his face, Nahum guessed that several things had suddenly fallen into place.  
Simeon shut the heavy log book with a loud snap that made everyone jump unexpectedly. “I think we need to talk to Arnold Magusson.”  
Without saying another word, Simeon turned and left Nahum’s office. Elias followed him, visibly seething. Nahum nodded to Fullerton, who nodded in return and the two men got up. The followed Simeon and Elias out of the room and into the hall. Nahum shut the door behind him. It closed with what seemed like an overly loud snap. He turned and fell into line behind the others. They all filed down the hall, through the door and down the stairs onto the factory floor. Nahum’s ears were assaulted by the usual cacophony. Simeon made a beeline through maze of people and equipment to the door that led to the engine house and the boilers beyond. Elias, Fullerton and Nahum had to half jog to keep up with Simeon and Nahum was suddenly aware that people were staring. A few minutes later, Simeon reached the door to the engine house. He grabbed the door knob and wrenched it open.  
He marched down the aisle between the two slowly churning steam engines and reached the door at the opposite end, which led into the boiler house. Simeon pulled open the door and Nahum felt the waves of rippling heat pour through it like water out of a faucet. Ignoring the sweat standing on his brow, and the sensation of having just walked into a wall, Simeon wove his way through the tangled labyrinth of the boiler house. He made his way past the boilers, one of which was still in pieces, and around the edge of the coal pile to Arnold Magnusson’s door. Simeon rapped hard on its faded, peeling surface. After a minute or two, a voice sounded from within. “Come in,” said Arnold.  
Simeon opened the door and they all piled into Arnold’s cramped office. As usual, Arnold was sitting in the only chair. Simeon dropped the heavy maintenance log onto Arnold’s desk. It fell open as it land on his desk with a dull thud. “Explain this,” he said.   
Elias was inwardly pleased to see Arnold swallow nervously. “I can explain these discrep-,” Arnold began.  
“Can you?” asked Simeon coldly, “because there are gaps missing in this log book and state law explicitly states that the boilers must under go a safety check on a bi-weekly basis.” He jabbed his finger down in the open pages so hard that it left an indentation. For a half a second, Nahum thought that Elias had broken his finger. “According to these records, the last time the boilers were inspected was two months ago.”  
“Its no wonder we’ve been having trouble generating enough steam pressure for the stamping machines,” interject Simeon.  
Nahum nodded. “Clearly, maintenance has been lacking,” he said.   
Simeon nodded in return, “yes,” he said in agreement, and he cast another scowl at Arnold, “we’ll have to check the entire factory for any additional oversights that might have been missed.” He cast an eye at Elias, “can we still finish by our deadline?”  
Elias frowned to himself, as if making some mental calculations. After a minute or two, he nodded and said, “I think so, but we absolutely can not have any more delays.”   
Simeon nodded in understanding.  
Nahum cast a scowl at Arnold, “what’s to be done with Mr.Magnuson?” he asked.  
Elias interjected immediately. “He should be sacked without haste,” he replied. He was speaking as if Arnold wasn’t in the room, but he didn’t care. “We’ve been working for months to get this factory on its feet and all this time, Mr. Magnusson’s negligence has been hampering our efforts.” Elias shook his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner-,” Arnold interrupted angrily.  
“Now wait just a minute,” he said. “Just because I didn’t do all the is and cross all the ts in the log book, doesn’t mean I didn’t do my job.”  
“But we have no way of knowing what you have and haven’t done,” replied Simeon in frustration. “Go home,” he said. “Your services are no longer needed today.” Arnold looked as if he was about to object, but Elias shot daggers at him and he kept quiet. Arnold got up out of his chair and edge his way around the desk, glowering at all of them in turn. After he finally left, Simeon turned to George Fullerton. “I trust you can manage things in the boiler house for the rest of the day?”  
He nodded. “I think so,” he replied.   
Simeon, Nahum and Elias exchanged a look. They were all clearly thinking the same thing. Arnold would likely have to be let go.   
“It might be best to sleep on this decision,” said Nahum after a moment or two tense silence.   
“There’s nothing to sleep on,” replied Elias. “Arnold Magnusson’s incompetence has caused substantial disruption.”  
Simeon shook his head. “Neverthless,” he replied, “we shouldn’t make any decisions regarding Mr. Magnusson’s continued employment with this company in haste.”  
“Oh very well,” replied Elias, “but it’s already a foregone conclusion.”


	13. Chapter 13

Spring, 1884

Arnold Magnusson was sacked, as Elias had predicted, four days later. George’s discovery of Magnusson’s lack of competence had result in several days of protracted discussions about what to do with him. In the end, Nahum and Simeon were forced to concede that Elias had had a point and Arnold was let go. George Fullerton was place in charge of the boiler house following Magnusson’s sacking. He left the repair of boiler in the hands of his two apprentices and set about combing the factory for any additional problems. It took several weeks to track them all down, but eventually, George was able to iron out a number of the factory’s problems and the factory finally began producing Nahum’s cutting machines.   
With the factory finally on its feet, Nahum was able to take a few days of rest away from the office. He had discussed the possibility of a another business trip with Simeon, but they still had a number of unfilled orders and had mutually decided that it could wait. The morning sun shone brightly through the dining room window. Fanny sat with Robert at the opposite end of the table. He squawked loudly as Fanny tried to spoon some oatmeal into his mouth. He frowned and turned his head away from the spoonful of oatmeal. At the same moment, he thrust out a chubby hand and tried to push the spoon away.  
“Come on,” Fanny cooed at him. “Come on, how about a nice spoonful of oatmeal.” Robert squawked again and beat his tiny fists on the table.  
“Would you like me to try with him ma’am?” asked Mary as she poured Nahum a second cup of coffee.  
Fanny shook her head. “No, thank you Mary,” she replied. “He only just started on solid food last week. He just wants his bottle.”  
At these words, the door to the dining room opened and Madame Goddard swept in.   
“Good morning, mother,” said Nahum, a forkful of bacon half way to his mouth.  
“Good morning, dear,” she said in reply. She eyed Fanny at the end of the table, with her son balanced on her knee. “Is he still not eating?” she asked.  
Fanny shook her head. “No,” she said, “he wants his bottle.” She cooed at him again, “but you’re a big boy now, and you want big boy food, don’t you?”  
Robert beat his little hands against his mother’s wrists again, try once again to push the spoonful of oatmeal away from his mouth, as if it were something offensive. “Come on,” she cooed. She tried to deposit the spoonful of oatmeal into her son’s mouth. He turned away again and squawked louder that before. Madame Goddard had been watching Fanny and her grandson over then rim of her tea cup. The sun shone into the room, leaving squares of bright sunlight on the oak parquet floor. The cut crystal juice glasses cast rainbows of colour onto the table cloth and the silverware glinted as it caught the light.  
Without saying anything, Madame Goddard put down her tea cup. She got up and walked around the end of the table where Fanny was sitting with her son. She pulled out a chair and sat down next to Fanny and Robert. “Here,” she said, taking Robert from Fanny’s arms, “why don’t you let me try?” Madame Goddard sat her grandson on her knee. “What a mess you are,” she cooed at him. Robert’s cheeks were smeared with oatmeal. Madame Goddard picked up a neatly folded linen napkin which was lying on the table. Balancing Robert on her knee, she unfolded the napkin with her other hand and wiped residue of Fanny’s attempts to feed him off of his cheeks. “There,” she said, “aren’t you a nice clean boy.” She put the napkin back on the table and pulled the bowl of oatmeal towards her. She picked up the spoon and picked up a spoonful of oatmeal. She held it up to Robert’s mouth and he eyed it suspiciously, as if it were something offensive.   
“Come on,” cooed Madame Goddard, “come on, the train is going into the tunnel.” Robert opened his mouth to squawk again, but before he could utter a sound, Madame Goddard thrust the spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Robert’s eyes widen as his grandmother thrust thrust the spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. He could taste the oatmeal and the flat metallic taste of the spoon on his tongue. He swallowed the mouthful of oatmeal and spat out the spoon.   
Madame Goddard cooed at him again. “Such a good boy,” she said. “Lets try another.” She picked up another spoonful of oatmeal and held it front of him. He eyed it again, but a little less suspiciously this time. Now that he had tasted the oatmeal, Robert had apparently decided that he liked it, or at the very least, it wasn’t overly offensive and he let her deposit another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. He swallowed again and spit out the spoon. In the same instant, it slipped from Madame Goddard’s fingers and landed on the floor with a clatter. Mary paused in the act of pouring Nahum another cup of coffee. She put down the coffee pot on the side table, where it caught the morning sunlight slanting in through the windows, gleaming brightly. She knelt down and retrieved the dropped spoon.  
“I think we’d like a clean spoon Mary, if you don’t mind,” said Fanny.  
Mary gave a little nod. “Right away, ma’am,” she said. She turned and through the door next to the side table, which banged open and then shut again. The smells from the kitchen momentarily wafted through the door as it opened and then closed again. A minute or two later, Mary returned with a clean spoon. She handed it to Fanny, who took it and pulled the bowl of oatmeal back toward her.  
“Do you require anything else, ma’am?” asked Mary.  
“Breakfast please,” replied Madame Goddard.  
Mary nodded and turned her attention to Fanny, “and you ma’am?” she asked, “may I bring you something?”   
“Tea and toast please,” replied Fanny.  
Mary nodded in understanding. “Yes, ma’am” she said and turned and went back through the door into the kitchen, which banged open and shut in the wake of her passing. Fanny tried to feed Robert another spoonful of oatmeal, but he turned his head away and made a face. Deciding that he wasn’t interested in breakfast, any more, Fanny picked him and put her son back in his crib, which stood in a corner of the room. He squawked again and clung to his mother as she tried to put him down. She extricated herself from his grip and returned to the table. The kitchen door banged open again as Mary re-entered the dining room bearing a silver serving tray. It was ladened with a breakfast plate, a tea pot, milk, sugar and a juice glass. She set it down on the sideboard behind Fanny and Madame Goddard. She picked up Madame Goddard’s breakfast plate and carried it over to the table where she set it down in front of Madam Goddard, who picked up her knife and fork and deposited a forkful of fried egg into her mouth, while Mary poured some orange juice into a cut crystal glass on the table in front of her. The brightly coloured liquid caught the morning sunlight coming in through the window. It cast pool of red orange light onto the pristine white table cloth.  
Mary returned to the sideboard amid the clatter of cutlery and picked up the silver tea pot, along with a china tea cup, milk and sugar. The tea service sat on a silver serving tray. Tendrils of steams curled gently up from the spout of the tea pot. Mary set the china tea cup and accompanying saucer on the table, along with toast, butter and jam.   
“Thank you, Mary,” said Fanny, “that will be all for now.”

Breakfast concluded half an hour later. Fanny took Robert upstairs, where she changed him and dressed him for going out. When she came back downstairs, Mary had brought the pram out and Madame Goddard was pulling on her coat. It was spring time and the flowers were starting to bloom, but it had been slightly cool of late and there was a slight chill in the air. Mary held the door open and a gust of slightly chilly air blew in from outside. It carried with it, the faint smell of horse manure and coal smoke.  
Madame Goddard turned to her daughter-in-law. “Come Fanny,” she said, “we don’t want to be late.” She swept out of the door and Fanny followed in her wake, carefully maneuvering the pram, with Robert inside. They reached the bottom of the steps and proceeded down the front walk toward the gate at the end of front walk. The flowers that lined the flagstone path that led from the house to the gate were bright and cheerful looking. Madame Goddard and Fanny reached the end of the path, pulled open the wooden gate and went through it. It was flanked on either side by low, square pillars made of the same red brick as the house. They were topped with square capitals that rose to a point and were finished off with a round finial.   
Fanny pushed Robert in his pram through the gate and Madame Goddard followed them, letting it swing shut behind them. They turned and walked down the street, enjoying the Spring sunshine. Roxbury seemed brighter and cleaner after the layers of grimy snow that had covered everything all winter. The latest rain had mostly washed the cobbled streets clean detritus and animal manure. The air carried the sweet scent of flowers as the blossoms lining the surrounding houses spread their petals.   
Fanny and her mother-in-law walked to the end of block, chatting amiably. Occasionally, Fanny peered into the pram and cooed at Robert who laughed. After about ten minutes, they reached the end of the block. A small shelter, made of glass and wrought iron, stood next the curb. The trolley tracks embedded in the cobbles caught the morning sun light. The highly polished railheads shone brightly. The trolley arrived not long afterward, to the steady echoing clop of horse’s hooves on the cobbles. The trolley slowed, and then came to a stop. The horse pulling the trolley snorted loudly and flicked its ears back and forth a couple of times as the trolley’s bell jangled loudly.   
Madame Goddard stepped off the curb and on the trolley, depositing a dime into the cash box next to the door. It fell down onto a pile of loose change with a slightly muffled clink. A second or two later it produced a ticket with a loud metallic ratcheting sound. She took her and sat down. The trolley conductor got down from his perch and help Fanny maneuver Robert in his pram onto the trolley. She deposited a dime into the cash box next to the door and took her ticket. Fanny wheeled Robert’s pram down the narrow aisle between the two rows of wooden bench that lined the inside of the trolley. She sat down next to Madame Goddard and the trolley jerked into motion as the horse started forward again with a steady clop-clop-clop. 

The trolley ride took twenty minutes. The bell jangled loudly at every stop. Robert was fixated by the regular ringing of the trolley bell. It was mounted to the wall near the ceiling at the front of the trolley. The clapper was connected to a pull cord that ran through a hole in the ceiling to the where the driver sat outside behind the horse. He pulled on the cord every time the trolley arrived at and left each of its designated stops. Robert’s eyes seemed to fixate on the bell, as if it were something magical.   
Eventually, the trolley stopped in front of a eight storey apartment building. It clad in limestone and had been designed to look like French chateau. Windows frowned down at the street from overhead and Madame Goddard and Fanny got off of the trolley with Robert in tow in his pram. The horse snorted again and the trolley rumbled off with a final jangling off its bell. Robert’s followed it briefly as it departed. After a second or two, it turned a corner and was lost to sight.  
Fanny pushed Robert’s pram under an elaborate wrought iron arch with the words The Wallingford woven into it. Madame Goddard and Fanny walked up the sidewalk, which was edged with neat looking flowers on either side. The building was fronted with a closely manicured lawn. They reached the short flight of steps that ran up to the building’s front door.   
Madame Goddard pulled open the heavy oak door and held it while Fanny pushed Robert’s pram inside. He squawked a little the pram bounced up the steps. Madame Goddard followed Fanny and Robert inside, allowing the door the swing shut behind her. It closed with a solid sounding thump. They found themselves in a small vestibule with a closed inner door. It was heavily scuffed. A hand written sign had been pinned up next to the door. It read, “please ring for admission.” A brass pull chain ran down from a hole just above the door. Fanny pulled on the chain a couple of times and Robert cooed in delight at the sound of the muffled clang coming from the other side.  
They heard the sound of muffled footsteps and the sound of a key rattling in a lock. The slightly scratched brass door knob turned and the inner door opened. A thin middle aged man, dressed in a vest and bow tie stood in the door way. A gold way watch fob and a chain was draped across his abdomen. The bulge of a pocket watch could be seen in one of his vest pockets. “Can I help you?” he asked.  
Fanny nodded. “Oh yes, thank you,” she said. “We’re here to see Miss McCallister.”  
The man’s eye glasses flashed in the light of the overhead gas lamps as he regarded them. “And how do you know Miss McCallister?” he asked.  
“She’s my sister,” replied Fanny.  
“Oh,” he said, as if he had suspected them of some sinister motive. “Sixth floor,” he replied, “south east corner. Apartment #604.”  
“Thank you,” replied Madame Goddard.  
The man stepped aside and Fanny pushed Robert’s pram out of the small vestibule. Madame Goddard followed in their wake. The building’s lobby was larger than the vestibule. It rose up through three floors. The room was supported a coffered ceiling, which was crisscrossed with dark wood beams. The individual coffers in the ceiling were painted with blue with the constellations picked out in gold stars. A large brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. The light of its many gas jets was reflected by the black and white checkerboard pattern in the highly polished marble floor. The reflected light was faintly reflected in the gold stars in the ceiling, which seemed to give room a fain golden glow.   
Fanny parked the pram in a corner of the room and bundled her son into her arms. She turned and walked across the entry hall, the steady clack-clack-clack of her shoes echoing slightly on the marble floor. Madame Goddard followed along in Fanny’s wake. In approximately half a dozen strides, they reached the other side of the hall, where they found an elevator and an attendant. He was wearing a dark blue uniform, with a double row of brass buttons down the front. He pulled aside the wrought iron grate and the stepped inside. “What floor please?” he asked.  
“The sixth,” replied Fanny. He sounded as if he couldn’t be more than sixteen. The doors rattled closed with the tinkling of small bell and the attendant pushed up on the brightly polished brass lever next to the elevator door. The elevator jerked once and then began to rise upward. The pair of electric lightbulbs at the top of the elevator cast a soft glow from under the frosted glass dome. The polished brass handrail around the perimeter of the elevator shone brightly in the soft light. A bell chimed as the elevator rose past each floor.   
Cradled in his mother’s arms, Robert peered around, taking in the electric light at the top of the elevator. He giggled and squawked at every time the bell rang and reached out with his chubby little hands toward the elevator’s control handle. The bell dinged again and the attendant pulled down on the handle, bringing back to the STOP position. The elevator jerked to a stop and he pulled open the wrought iron grate, which once again rattled loudly. “Sixth floor,” he said. He held out a hand with an air of anticipation and Madame Goddard produced a small change purse from somewhere. She opened it and produced a dime, which she pressed into the young man’s hand. “Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said, “you have a nice day.”


	14. Chapter 14

Spring, 1884

Fanny stepped out the elevator, still carrying Robert in her arms. The clack-clack-clack of her shoes echoed slightly on the terrazzo floor of the hallway. Madame Goddard stepped out of the elevator behind her and the door rattled shut with the sound of a tinkling bell. A second or two later, they the muffled rumble of machinery filled the hallway as the elevator began its descent.  
They continued walking down the hall, glancing at the brass number plates affixed to the dark oak doors as they passed. Electric lights in wall sconces cast a soft light, which was reflected off of the highly polished floor. Ornate mirrors dotted the hallway. After a few minutes they rounded a corner and walked a little further on. They eventually came to a darkly stained oak door with a polished brass handle. The number plate the the number 604 etched into it. The round lens of a peep hole in the middle of the door caught the light.   
Fanny shifted Robert to her other arm. She raised her right arm, made a fist and rapped on the door three times in quick succession. She paused, listening for the sound of footsteps. After a second or two, she heard the muffled sound of footsteps on a wood floor, followed the sound of a bolt being slid back followed by the metallic rattling of a chain. The door opened and a young woman stood in the doorway.  
She appeared to be slightly younger than Fanny. A mane of shining raven hair cascaded down to her shoulders. Her eyes were an icy blue and she has full lips. “Fanny,” she said, “this is an unexpected surprise.” She eyed Madame Goddard, “oh, ummmm……”she trailed off, “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m afraid I don’t-,” Fanny interjected.  
“Oh,”she said, “this is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Goddard.”  
Madame Goddard extended a long, thin hand. “Delighted to meet you,” she said.  
Gertrude looked momentarily flustered again, as if she didn’t know what to do.  
“Might we come in?” asked Fanny.  
Gertrude blink once, as if she had forgotten her manners. “Oh, yes of course,” she replied. She stepped aside and Fanny, carrying Robert, along with Madame Goddard went inside. Gertrude shut the door behind them. They found themselves in a small entryway. A rosewood table stood next to the front door. A small porcelain vase decorated with shooting stars stood on its surface. The door shut behind them with a soft thump. The apartment was moderately sized and consisted of a sitting area, a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen.   
“Please,” she called from the kitchen, “make yourselves at home. I was just making tea when you knocked.”  
Fanny and Madame Goddard walked down the short hallway past the tiny kitchen, which contained a sink with a faucet, a counter, a few cupboards and a coal fired stove. Gertrude stood at the scrubbed wooden counter opening and closing cupboards doors looking for tea leaves. A kettle was singing loudly on the stove. A ceramic tea pot sat on the counter and three mugs sat on the counter. A glass milk bottle glisten with sweat next to a mismatches sugar bowl and a small milk pitcher.  
Fanny and Madame Goddard kept walking past the kitchen and found themselves in the sitting room. Two windows let in the mid morning sunlight. They were both framed by faded blue gingham curtains. A large rug dominated the floor in the middle of the room. An over stuffed arm chair sat in one corner. A small glassed in bookcase stood on one wall bearing a few family photographs in slightly tarnished silver frames.   
Fanny and Madame Goddard sat down on the sofa opposite the overstuffed arm chair. Fanny bounced Robert on her knee and he cooed happily. A minute or two later, Gertrude came out of the small kitchen carrying a tray laden with the tea pot, mugs, milk and sugar, as well as a plate piled high with sandwiches and biscuits. She set the tray down on a side table in a corner and set about pouring tea and passing out sandwiches and biscuits. When she was finished serving them tea, sandwiches and biscuits, Gertrude sat down in the arm chair opposite the sofa. She took a sip of her tea. There was an awkward silence.  
“So,”said Fanny, after a minute or two, “how are you doing?” She took a bite of her ham salad sandwich, which was followed by a sip of her tea.  
“Well enough, I supposed,” replied Gertrude. She coughed and dabbed at her mouth with a small handkerchief.  
“The doctor still doesn’t know what my ailment is,” replied Gertrude, “but it hasn’t worsened.” She took another bite of her sandwich, “at least not yet.”  
“Well, thank heaven for small mercies,” said Fanny.  
Gertrude nodded. “Unfortunately, the doctor recommends that I not got back to the shirtwaist factory until we have a diagnosis for my condition.” Gertrude was a seamstress with the Roxbury Shirtwaist Company.  
Fanny took another bite of her sandwich, which she followed with another sip of her tea. “Is there anything we can do to help?”  
Gertrude took a bite of her sandwich and shook her head. “No,” she replied, “thank you, Fanny, but I’ll be alright. Mother and Father are helping.”  
“Oh, well that’s good to hear,” replied Fanny. She finished her sandwich and took a bight out of one the biscuits. There was an uncomfortable pause. “How are Mother and Father?” she asked. “I wrote to them, but….” Fanny’s voice trailed off and Gertrude gave her a sympathetic look over the rim of her tea cup.  
“Mother wanted to write after the baby was born,” said Gertrude, “but Father forbid it.”  
“Why ever would he do that?” asked Mary indignantly.  
The sudden sound of Madame Goddard speaking made Fannie and Gertrude both jump slightly, and Fannie suddenly realized that she hadn’t made the proper introductions. She blushed slightly as she realized her faux pas. “Oh, I’m sorry Gertrude,” said Fannie, “I appear to have quite forgotten my manners.” She gestured to Madame Goddard. “This is my mother-in-law, Mary Goddard.”  
“Oh,” replied Gertrude, taking a bite of her biscuit, “hello.”  
“Charmed,” replied Mary, with a smile. She paused momentarily as she regarded the much younger woman. “Now what exactly did your father say about my son, who he’s dismissed so summarily?”  
Gertrude flushed more deeply that before, and for a second she wondered if she had done something to offend the other woman, but Fannie saw the look on her sister’s face and made a placating gesture.   
“It’s alright, Gertie,” she said. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”  
The flush receded from Gertrude’s cheeks and she swallowed her mouthful of tea. “Oh,” she replied, “well, it’s just that he had all sort of things to about Mr. Goddard, ma’am-,” replied Gertrude.  
Fannie looked back and forth between her sister and her mother-in-law. Gertrude, along with her oldest brother Reginald, had been the the only members of her family who had managed to keep regular correspondence with Fannie, for which Fannie was grateful. Reginald had been delighted at the prospect of becoming an uncle. The only thing that had kept him from coming to visit was that he lived in Illinois and his successful law practice didn’t give him many opportunities to get away, however, he had extracted a promise from Fannie that she and Nahum would visit him if they were ever in the area, which Fannie had agreed to at once.   
It was from Reginald that Fannie had learned that she had been disinherited by her father. She still had not totally recovered from the news. At times, in the last six months, with Nahum away on business, or working late much on the time, Fannie had often only had Mary and the baby for company. Gertrude had always been Fannie’s favourite sister, and Fannie had learned from Reginald that Gertrude had gotten married to Walter McCallister, who taught math and English at a local high school. Fannie was suddenly aware that Gertrude was eyeing Robert.  
“Would you like to hold him?” she asked. Gertrude nodded. Fannie set aside her tea cup, placing it on the little table next to the end of the chesterfield with the gentle clink of china. She bundled Robert into her arms and he cooed softly. Standing up, Fannie crossed the room to where Gertrude sat opposite and gently deposited her son into her sister’s arms. Gertrude took Robert from Fannie, cradling him gently. He cooed at her again as he gazed up at her. Gertrude rocked him back and forth and Robert laughed at her. His eyes seemed to wander around the room. A tall grandfather clock stood in one corner. Its chime sounded with a sonorous BONG! BONG! BONG! as it struck the hour.   
Robert squawked and started a little at the sudden and unexpected sound. At the same instant, his eyes went to the clock. He stared intently at, watching the hands swept smoothly around the face. He watched with a furrowed brow, as the brass weight on the end of the pendulum swung slowly back and forth. Robert seemed to star very hard at the clock, as trying to puzzle out what hidden magic made it work.  
“He has your eyes,” said Gertrude as she rocked him back and forth. Fannie blushed a little at these words.  
“I always thought he had Nahum’s nose,” she replied. Robert chose this moment to tear his attention away from the grandfather clock in the corner. He began to cry loudly.   
Fannie’s eyes went to the grandfather clock as Robert’s squalling filled the room. “Oh,” she said, “its time to feed him.” Fannie got crossed the room again. She gently extracted Robert from Gertrude’s embrace, scooping him back into her arms, then she turned and sat down. Balancing Robert in the crook of her arm, Fannie bent down and snapped open the latches on a small leather satchel tucked under her feet. It contained extra diapers and soft cloths for cleaning and changing him, as well as a few toys to keep him occupied should he fuss. Her hand closed around something hard and cold. She pulled a glass baby bottle full of milk our of the satchel. Robert’s eye settled on the bottle as soon as it appeared and he thrust out his small hands, reaching for it greedily. Fannie repositioned Robert so that he was nestled more securely in the crook of her arm and gave him his bottle. Robert fastened his chubby hands around the glass bottle and lifted it to his lips. He put the rubber nipple in his mouth and drank greedily, gulping down the bottle’s contents rapidly.  
Gertrude chuckled as she watched Robert enthusiastically feeding. “Well, it looks like he has a healthy appetite,” she said.  
“Oh, he’ll trying most things once,” replied Mary.  
“But you should have seen him with a bowl of oatmeal this morning,” interjected Fannie. “It was a sight.”  
“Oh, so he’s on solid food then?” asked Gertrude.  
“He’s only just starting on solid food,” replied Fannie. Robert pushed the bottle away from his with both hands, apparently no long interested. The bottle was approximately three quarters empty. Fannie took the bottle from her son and put back in the small leather satchel. A thin rivulet of milk and saliva ran down his chin from the corner of his mouth. Fannie rummaged around again until her had close over something soft. She withdrew it and produced a soft cloth. She held him upright and cooed at him while she wiped the drool and spilled milk away from his chin. “Aren’t you a nice clean boy,” she said. Robert chuckled a little at her, as if he had reason to be very pleased with himself.  
The grandfather clock in the corner struck a tinkling chime and Fannie blinked. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry, Gertrude, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to go.”  
Fannie once again bundled Robert into her arms and the three women stood up. Mary stuck out a hand and Gertrude shook it. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Mary.  
“And yours,” replied Gertrude. She pulled her sister into an awkward hug. Fannie gave Gertrude a one armed hug in return.   
“Its been wonderful seeing you again,” said Fannie. “You must come and visit soon.”  
Gertrude nodded. “I’d like that,” she said. Fannie started to bend over to pick up the satchel with Robert things in it, but Gertrude beat her to it stooping down and scooping up the small leather bag. “Oh, please,” she said, “allow me to get that for you.” She straightened up and handed the bag to Fannie, who took it with a small smile. “I’ll walk you to the door,”she said. The three women walked back to the apartment’s front door. She opened and the three women stepped into the hall. They walked down the hall together. They reached the elevator and Gertrude pressed the call button.  
They could hear the muffled sound of rumbling overhead, as the elevator descended. It grew gradually louder and after a minute or two, it stopped with the tinkling of a small bell. The elevator attendant opened the doors with a loud rattling noise and Mary, Fannie and Gertrude stepped inside.   
“What floor please?” asked the attendant.  
“Lobby please,” replied Fannie, handing the attendant a dime. He pocketed it, pulled the doors shut and pushed down on the lever. The elegant rattled into motion with a downward jerk and after a couple of minutes, the reached the lobby. The bell chimed again and the elevator stopped with a little bump. The attendant opened the doors again and Fannie, Mary and Gertrude stepped out. They walked walked across the lobby, their shoes clacking loudly on the marble floor. Robert’s pram was still where Fannie had left it earlier. She laid Robert down and he coed a little at his mother as she set him down. Fannie bent down and stowed the satchel with his things on the rack under the pram. When she straightened up again, she turned once again to Gertrude and pulled her sister into a hug. “It was wonderful to see you again,” said Fannie, letting her go, at last.  
“And you,” replied Gertrude. “Come and visit again soon.”  
“I will,” replied Fannie. “Good bye.”  
“Good bye,” said Gertrude.  
Fannie took hold of Robert’s pram. Mary held the door open for her. Fannie turned and pushed Robert through the tiny vestibule and Mary followed her out into the spring sunshine.


	15. Chapter 15

Boston, Massachusetts   
Spring, 1887

The afternoon sun shone in through the open window and cast a pool of warm light on the floor of the bedroom at the top of the house on Forest Street. A boy lay sprawled in the floor in the warm sunlight. He lay in the midst of a scattering of blocks of various shapes and sizes and colours. He studied each one for what seemed like several minutes, of inspect each one for some hidden flaw. After a while, when lying prone on the floor too long. He resettled himself into a cross legged position and surveyed the scattered collection of blocks once again. They were made of small cut stones and slightly rough to the touch. Robert picked one up and examined it. It was square and shone a deep blue in the sunlight coming in through his bedroom window. He hefted it in his hands, as if testing its weight. After a second or two, he turned his attention from the block in his hand to the half built structure on the floor in front of him. After a moment or two, his gaze went to a space in the castle’s outer wall next to the guard house. The crevice was exactly the right size and shape of the block in Robert’s hand. He carefully inserted it into the space assigned to it. It fit perfectly.   
Robert carefully removed his hand. He sat back for a moment and admired his progress. He had almost finished the outer curtain wall. All I have left to do is the top of the guard tower, he thought, then I can start on the keep. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Taking pains to avoid knocking over the carefully assembled structure on the floor, Robert got up and padded across the room to the door. He opened it and found his mother standing in the hall. “Oh, hello, mother,” said Robert. He stepped aside and she entered the room. “Do you like it, mother?” he asked. “I completed the guard tower and the outer bailey wall,” he said enthusiastically.  
Fannie walked over and examined the half built castle on the bedroom floor. “It looks wonderful, Robbie,” she said. “The next time you write to your Uncle Reginald, be sure to tell him how much you’ve enjoyed the gift he brought you.”  
Robert nodded in understanding at these words. “Yes, mother,” he said.  
Fannie took a moment to survey her son. He was barefoot and dressed in a faded pair of shorts and a slightly creased button down shirt. “Go and wash up and change,” she said. “Mr. Ridley is waiting downstairs for you.”  
Robert brightened at these words. Mr. Ridley was his tutor. Even though Robert was old enough to go to school, Fannie and Nahum had, at Fannie’s insistence, opted not to enroll him just yet.   
“He needs to got to school,” Nahum had insisted   
“But, he can’t,” Fannie had pleaded, “he’s too small.” This wasn’t true. Fannie had always been the nervous sort would send for the doctor to examine Robert at the slightest sniffle. He had also assured her that Robert was in the proper height and weight percentile for his age. Fannie would then insis that the doctor had missed something and the cycle would start all over again. More to preserve his sanity than any else he still believes that there was nothing that impeded Robert from going to school to that end, had insisted that Robert have a tutor, to ensure that he did not fall hopelessly behind the other children when it came time for him to start school. A search had then ensued as Fannie and Nahum had sought an acceptable candidate.   
Eventually, they had found one in the form of Mr. Nathaniel Ridley. Mr. Ridley was twenty seven and studying to be a teacher. He was a slightly heavy set man with a neatly trimmed moustache. Gold rimmed eyeglasses perched on the end of a button nose.   
“Go and get your things and then go downstairs and say hello to Mr.Ridley,”said Fannie.  
“Yes, Mother,” replied Robert. He went over to the tall, darkly varnished oak wardrobe in the corner and pulled open the door. Shirts and trousers hung neatly on hangars. Several pairs of shiny black and brown shoe were arranged neatly on the bottom of the wardrobe. Robert pushed aside the various shirts and trousers until he found and a sturdy kaki jacket made of sailcloth. He pulled it off the hangar and continued to rummage through the wardrobe. After another second or two, Robert produced a drab looking backpack. Along with a thin bamboo fishing pole.Nahum had bought it for Robert as a Christmas gift after father and son had gone camping together. Robert had taken immediately to fishing and had talked of nothing else for weeks afterward. He shoulder the backpack, which was also as big as he was and hefted the fishing pole in his hand. It waggled back and forth with a sinuous snake like motion as he moved.   
Robert shut the wardrobe door with a snap. He turned back toward where his mother stood just inside the bedroom door. He walked past her and out into the hall. She followed in his wake, shutting the door behind him. Robert walked to the end of the hall, turned the corner and stopped at the top of the stairs. He reached out and took hold of the bannister. His backpack shifted slightly as he carefully took the first step. Robert wobbled a little, and then holding tightly on to the bannister, straightened himself and carefully lowered himself onto the next step. In this way, Robert slowly made his way down stairs.   
When he reached the bottom of the stairs a few minutes later, Robert emerged into the entrance hall, where he found Mr. Ridley waiting for him. Mr. Ridley smiled genially at Robert as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Hello, Robert,” he said, “are you looking forward to going fishing?”  
Robert broke into a smile at the sight of his tutor and ran slightly unsteadily across the hall. “Oh, yes,” he said.   
Fannie had to work a little at suppressing a smile. She was pleased to see him so excited. “Robert,” she asked quietly, “aren’t you forgetting something?”   
For a second or two, Robert looked slightly confused, as if what ever it was that he was supposed to remember was on the tip of his tongue, but just out of reach. After a second’s thought Robert suddenly remember. He composed himself and extended his hand which Mr. Ridley shook. “Hello, Mr. Ridley,” said Robert in an overly formal tone of voice. “It’s very nice to see you again.”  
“It’s very nice to see you too,” replied Mr. Ridley, he was wearing a broad brimmed hat. A battered looking backpack was leaning against the wall, just inside the front door. The barrel of a collapsible brass telescope stuck out of the top. He was dressed a faded pair of pants and a rough looking dun coloured jacket, similar to Robert’s. Mr. Ridley hefted his backpack on to his shoulders. The various instruments inside clanked and rattled slightly as Mr. Ridley picked up his backpack and hoisted it on to his shoulders. He turned to go out the front door. “Are you ready to go, Robert?” he asked  
Robert nodded in reply. He made to follow his tutor out the door, but before he could take more than a couple of steps, Fannie spoke again. “Just a moment, Robert,” she chided gently, “aren’t you forgetting something else?”  
Robert stopped again, and once again looked thoughtful for a second or two, then he turned back to his mother, who bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Good bye, Robert,” she said. “Please remember to behave for Mr. Ridley.”  
“Yes, mother,” he replied. He gave her a kiss in return. Before she could say anything else, Robert turned and scampered out the door, trailing in Mr. Ridley’s wake. Robert stepped out of the oak panelled entrance and into the bright spring sunshine. With one hand on the stone balustrade, Robert carefully picked his way down the stone steps. He reached the bottom of the steps. Robert attempted to shrug his shoulders and shift his backpack to sit higher on his shoulders. His efforts were only partially successful. He walked down the flagstone walkway, which was lined on either side with brightly colour flowers and reached the gate. Mr. Ridley was standing at the gate waiting for him.   
Robert reached the gate and Mr.Ridley held it open for him. He walked through it and Mr. Ridley followed behind him, allowing the gate to swing shut behind him. Waiting next to the curb was a horse drawn. They climbed in and Mr. Ridley rapped sharply on the roof.   
“Where to?” asked the cabbie.  
“Train station, please,” replied Mr. Ridley. The cabbie snapped his whip and the cab jerked into motion. Robert and his tutor were jostled back and forth inside the cab, as it bounced over the cobblestones streets of Boston’s suburbs. They arrived in front of the train station and climbed out. Mr. Ridley produce a bill fold from one of the pockets of his field jacket. He opened it and extracted some slightly crumpled bills, which he handed to the cabbie, who accepted the payment with a nod and pocketed the money. He flicked his whip and again the can rumbled off into the mid-afternoon traffic.  
“Come along, Robert,”said Mr. Ridley. He took Robert’s hand and led him into the station. They went inside and Robert found himself in echoing room. His eyes went wide. He had never seen such a large room before. There were people of all sorts bustling everywhere, women in long dresses, bushmen men in blue suits, railroad employees in neat looking uniforms, station porters in bright red hats. With Robert in tow, Mr. Ridley threaded his way through the milling crowd of bustling people toward the ticket counter in the middle of the concourse. A man dark blue uniform with a row of brightly polished brass buttons down the front turned to Mr. Ridley as he approached the polished granite ticket counter.  
“May I help you, sir?” he asked. He spoke in a slightly gravelly voice.  
Mr. Ridley nodded. “Yes,” he replied. He adjusted his glasses. “You may, I have tickets laid aside.”  
“Under what name?”   
“Under the name of Mr.Nathaniel Ridley,” he replied.  
The elder station attendant reached down under the counter, and re-emerged and second or two later with a sheaf of tickets in his hand. He slid them across the counter and Mr. Ridley picked them up. He tucked them into a pocket inside his jacket, then pulled out his bill fold again. He once again produced some crumpled bills and laid them on the counter. The ticket agent took them and Mr. Ridley once again took Robert by the hand. Once again weaving their way through the station’s mid-afternoon bustle and on to the stations platform. The train shed was empty. Mr. Ridley paused on the platform, he looked up at the station clock, then dug in one of his pockets and produced a slightly tarnished silver pocket watch. He opened it and checked his watch, cast an eye upward toward the station clock, which was mounted on an elaborate wrought iron arm over the platform. Mr. Ridley glanced down at the scratched face of his pocket watch again. He turn the dial with a slight frown. His pocked watch appeared to be slightly slow. “Come along Robert,” he said, pulling his charge back from the tracks and guiding him toward a nearby bench. Mr. Ridley slipped off his backpack and set it down on the ground. He sat down and help Robert out of his backpack, putting it on the ground next to his own.

The train came twenty minutes later. It crawled into the station belching steam and soot, amid a defeaning cacophony of noise. The locomotive’s bell clanged loudly and its brakes squealed. It stopped with a lurch and the carriage doors banged open. People spilled out of the train and on to the platform with a loud tramp of feet. The babble of passengers’ voices and the shouts of porters echoed off the walls. Mr. Ridley stood up, and Robert followed suit. He spent a few minutes helping Robert shoulder his backpack, then picked up his own. Mr. Ridley reached down and took Robert’s hand in his own. “Come along,” he said. They started to walk down toward the far end of the train, where their car waited, but they hadn’t gone more than five or ten steps, before Mr. Ridley felt a sharp tug on his arm. He looked down, Robert was looking in the other direction, at the head end of the train toward the locomotive, which sat bathed in steam and hissing loudly. Well, thought Mr. Ridley, I supposed we have a little time. The passengers waiting for the train were still lining up to have their tickets punched. Platform attendants and the train’s baggage car porters were hollering at each other. Trunks and cases landed on the platform with a series of thuds. Robert was gazing at the belching locomotive with a look of obsessive fascination on his face. Mr. Ridley bent down next to Robert. “Would you like to see the big steam engine?” he asked. Robert nodded eagerly.  
“Come along then,” he said. He turned and led Robert down toward the other end of the platform toward the locomotive. It sat hunched on the tracks, like some sort of black monster. The locomotive was covered in a thick layer of soot. The odour of burning coal hung in the air, along with the smell of hot lubricant. A faint hissing noise emanated from the locomotive, as the water circulating through the locomotive’s boiler tubes flashed into steam in the prescience of the roasting hot furnace in the fire box. Robert was gazing at the locomotive. His brow furrowed in concentration as he gazed at the locomotive. The words CHESAPEAKE & OHIO were emblazoned in bright yellow letters on the locomotive’s tender. Under the open window of the driver’s cab were the numbers 528. Robert took in the heavy running gear and huge drive wheels, which were taller than he was.   
Mr. Ridley knelt down next to his young charge. Robert stood facing the locomotive, as if willing it to reveal its magic. “Do you like the big steam engine,Robert?” he asked.  
Robert nodded in reply.  
“Do you know how the steam engine works?” asked Mr. Ridley.  
Robert shook his head. “No, Mr. Ridley.”  
“Would you like me to tell you?”  
Robert nodded eagerly, and Mr. Ridley explained how the fireman shovelled coal into the fire box, which boiled the water in the boiler, which pushed against the pistons and moves the drive rods, which turned the wheels. Robert listened with intense rapture as Mr. Ridley spoke. Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Ridley noticed the conductor walking to the platform toward them. He stood up, took Robert’s hand and turned toward the conductor.  
“Tickets, please,” said the conductor. He was a thin man with tortoise shell glasses and sandy blond hair. “Showing your son the locomotive?” asked the conductor as he came to a stop in front of the two of them.  
“My pupil,” corrected Mr. Ridley. “I’m taking him to Hemlock Gorge, for a few days of exposure to nature.”  
“Oh, that’s fine,” replied the conductor, “I still need to see your tickets.”  
Mr. Ridley nodded. The train’s doors were starting to close with a series of loud bangs. Mr. Ridley fished in the one of the pockets of his field jacket and produced a sheaf of tickets. The conductor inspected them, then clicked the, with his hole punch. “These seem to be in order,” he said, handing the tickets back to Mr. Ridley. He nodded the train, “you had better hurry up.”  
Mr. Ridley nodded once more, glanced at the tickets and pocket them. “Come, Robert,” he said. He took Robert’s hand and lead him back down down the platform past the tender and the baggage car toward the first car on the train. Robert clambered his way up the steps and into the car’s cramped vestibule. Mr. Ridley climbed up the steps behind him. Still standing on the platform, the conductor bellowed, “ALL ABOARD!” and blew a shrill note with his whistle.   
The train lurched as Mr. Ridley, reached over Robert’s head and pushed open the car door. Behind them, the conductor clambered loudly up the steps. Mr. Ridley ushered Robert into the railway car’s interior. The conductor followed them, shutting the door behind him with a bang. The aisle running down the middle of the car was lined on either side with plush benches covered in red velvet. Brightly polished kerosene lamps hung from the ceiling at regular intervals. Tasseled curtains lined the windows. Mr. Ridley gave Robert a little nudge. He had stopped in the middle of the aisle, apparently overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of sumptuous luxury.   
Robert took another step, and then another, and another. After a minute or two, they reached the end of the car and pulled open the door. The man and the boy stepped through the vestibule, crossed over the gap between the two cars and walked into the next car. They continued down toward the middle of the train, passing through two more cars, before, reaching the car that was printed on their tickets. They pushed open the door to car #694 and went inside. The interior was comfortable, but spartan. The single aisle running down the middle of the car was lined on either side by wooden benches. Simple curtains made of heavy blue canvas lined the window. The benches were upholstered with dark brown leather. It looked worn and slightly faded. Some of the seat covering dry and cracked. Mr. Ridley took out the their tickets again inspected them. He nudged Robert again. “Come along,” he nodding to two empty seats in the middle of the car.   
Robert and his tutor walked down to the middle of the car. Mr. Ridley shrugged off his backpack and levered it on to the overhead luggage rack. He bent down and helped Robert with his pack, wedging into the luggage rack next to his own. The train lurched again, and they sat down. Outside, a few last minute stragglers were hurrying down the platform, rushing to catch the train. Robert pressed his nose against the window glass, watching the few remaining people milling around on the platform. They hurried out of sight toward the tail end of the train. There was a final distant echoing bang as the last door closed, and the remaining passengers boarded the train.  
A loud metallic squeal echoed down the platform as the locomotive’s drive wheels began to inch forward. The train ground slowly into motion and the platform slid past, first at little better than a crawl, then faster and faster. The train shed disappeared from view and the train emerged from the smoky interior and into the sunshine. The platform disappeared and the train thudded and rocked back and forth as it threaded its way through the tangle of sidings, switches and staging tracks as the train emerged on the main line. Robert stared wide-eyed as the train picked up speed. The tall buildings of North Boston got smaller as the train made its way out of the city and into the suburbs. The suburbs soon gave way to grimy factories belching coal smoke. These were in turn supplanted by widely spaced farms and eventually open country.  
The train turned and sped north. It curved its way around pristine blue lakes, through tunnels and over rushing rivers. Robert sat transfixed at the window, as the world sped by. After awhile the train slowed. It swayed slightly and thudded again as it turned on to a siding. A small station appeared and the train came to a stop. The door at the front of the car opened with a loud bang and the conductor came striding down the aisle, speaking at the top of his voice.”HEMLOCK JUNCTION! ALL PASSENGERS GOING TO HEMLOCK JUNCTION THIS IS YOUR STOP! HEMLOCK JUNCTION!”  
The train came to a stop with a slight jolt and Mr. Ridley, Robert and perhaps half a dozen other people got up. Mr. Ridley took down their backpacks and helped Robert slip his onto his shoulders, before slipping on his own. He gave Robert a gentle nudge, guiding him toward the line of passengers standing in the aisle between the rows of benches. They joined the line of passengers and slowly filed their way down the car toward the vestibule and the open door. Robert and Mr. Ridley reached the open door and Robert carefully picked his way down the steps. The station attendant stood waiting on the platform. He took Robert’s hand and helped him down on to the ground. Mr. Ridley joined him and taking Robert’s hand, they walked across the platform and into the station. The station was small and consisted of one room. A rack of pamphlets announcing various local inns and attractions that occupied the wall between the ladies’ and gentlemens’ washrooms. Robert and Mr. Ridley walked past the waiting area, pushed open a door and went outside.  
A man with a horse drawn wagon was waiting for them. The wagon was dark green, its paint job was peeling in places. The dappled grey horse was tired looking. The man in the driver’s seat pulled and scrap of paper out of his pocket. He glanced at it through a pair of wire rim spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “Are you Mr. Ridley?” he asked.  
Mr. Ridley nodded. “That’s right,” he replied. “We were expecting to be met by a Mr. Wallingford.”  
The man nodded at the mention of his name. He motioned to the two rows of benches in the back of the wagon. “Get in,” he replied, “and I’ll take you to your campsite.”


	16. Chapter 16

Hemlock Gorge State Park,  
Massachusetts,  
Spring, 1887

Robert and Mr. Ridley walked around to the back of the wagon. Mr. Ridley slipped off Robert’s backpack, then his own and levered them into the back of the wagon. Mr. Ridley picked Robert up under his armpits and lifted him up, the climbed up the in the wagon beside him. When the two of them were settled, Mr. Wallingford flicked the reins and the horse trotted into motion, its hooves clopping dully on the ground. Mr. Ridley and Robert bounced on their seats as the wagon as it rocked and jounced back and forth over the rutted track that led away from the station. They made their way through the small village of Hemlock Junction, which consisted of a two storey hotel, a blacksmith, a general store and some scattered houses, and then disappeared into the trees.   
The late afternoon sunlight cast a dappled mix of light and shadow through the canopy. The forest echoed with birdsong. Robert cocked his head, trying to catch each call. “What was that?” he asked. Out bright flash of blue and white plumage darted through the trees.  
Mr. Ridley turned his head, and the blue and white flash of plumage resolved itself into a large, fat blue jay settling onto a branch. He leaned over and whispered to Robert. “That’s a blue jay,” he said. “Hemlock Gorge State Park has lots and lots of birds and other wildlife. You’ll get to see them tomorrow.”   
They emerged from the trees and to a clearing. A large park rangers’ cabin stood in the middle. Several log and fieldstone out buildings were dotted around the clearing. “This is the main Rangers’ station,” said Mr. Wallingford. The wagon bumped to a stop. “This is a far as I can take you,” he said. He gestured to a row of wagons lined up on the other side of the clearing in front of one of the outbuildings, “One of those will take to your campsite.”  
“Thank you,” replied Mr. Ridley. He deposited their backpacks on the ground, then climbed down and helped Robert down from the back of the wagon. He reached into an inside pocket and produced a his billfold. He extracted a dollar bill and gave it to Mr. Wallingford. He pocketed the dollar with a nod, and flicked the reins. The horse trotted into motion and the wagon rumbled off. Mr Ridley turned toward the cabin door and Robert followed in his wake.   
Mr Ridley pushed open the door and they went inside. They found themselves in a medium sized room facing a long counter made of pine boards and field stones. A fire place and a pair of chairs stood in one corner. The park ranger on the other side of the counter looked up at the sound of the door opening and then banging shut.  
“Welcome to Hemlock Gorge,” he said. He was a strapping man in his mid-twenties. “Something I can help you with?”  
Mr. Ridley nodded and stepped up to the counter. “Yes,” he replied. “I have a campsite booked for two.”  
The park ranger pulled a large ledger book toward him and started rapidly flicking through the pages. “Under what name was your booking made?” he asked as his eyes scanned down the columns.  
“Under the name of Mr. Ridley.”  
“Hmmmmm,” muttered the park ranger. He stopped flicking through the pages. “Ah, here it is,” he said, reading the ledger book. “N Ridley plus one.” The park ranger turned the book around and slid it across the counter toward Mr. Ridley, along with a pencil. Mr. Ridley accepted the book and pulled it toward himself.  
“Sign here, please,” said the ranger pointing at the blank space next to his name. Mr. Ridley scribbled his signature next to his reservation. The ranger pulled the ledger book back across the counter. He rummaged under the counter and slid something else across the counter toward Mr. Ridley. He took it and open it. It was a map of the park with all its water ways and hiking trails marked in blue and red.   
The park ranger pointed at the map and handed him a metal token. It had the words, “Lake Hurstwood-Site 7,” stamped on it on both sides.   
“Your campsite is here,”said the park ranger, pointing to a spot on the map on the far side of Lake Hurstwood. “You can show your toke to any of the wagon drivers outside, and they’ll know where to take you.”  
“Yes, thank you,” replied Mr. Ridley. He studied the map for a moment, then folded it up and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He took Robert by the hand and they went back outside into the afternoon sunlight. The sky was obscured with scudding clouds. Robert and Mr. Ridley footsteps crunched on the gravel path as they made their way across the clearing to the row of wagons standing opposite the Rangers’ cabin. They stopped at the first wagon in line.   
“Good afternoon,” said Mr. Ridley, “we are looking for Site 7 on Lake Hurstwood.” He showed his token to the driver, who looked at it for a moment or two and nodded.   
“Sure,” he replied, “I can take you there.” He nodded to the back of the wagon, which was identical to the one that had met them at the train station. “Hop in back.”   
“Thank you,” replied Mr. Ridley. He helped Robert climb into the back of the wagon and then climbed up behind him. The driver flicked the reigns and the wagon jerked into motion. The steady clop of the horses’ hooves echoed slightly off the buildings scattered around the clearing as the wagon’s wheels crunched over the gravel road. The gravel path was marked on either side by whitewashed boulders set at regular intervals. The trees pressed close as the gravel path wound its way through the woods. The sun was low in the sky and the trees cast long dappled shadows. Something rustled in the thick undergrowth. Robert turned his head to see what it was, but found nothing. He saw a flash of crimson plumage out of the corner of his eye as a cardinal darted from behind a tree and settled on a branch.  
The wagon continued to wind its way through the woods on the gravel path. It rumbled over a small stone bridge. A brook gurgled faintly underneath. From somewhere more distant came the echoing roar of a waterfall. Half an hour later, they emerged out of the woods and on the shores of a large lake. Deep blue water lapped gently against a sandy beach. A wooden dock thrust out into the water. A small cabin stood a little way back from the shore. A cedar canoe was propped against one of the cabin’s walls. A stack of firewood stood under a corrugated tin awning. An outhouse stood a short distance away. The warbling cry of a loom echoed from somewhere over the water.   
The wagon rumbled to a stop. Mr. Ridley hopped out on the ground and helped Robert clamber down in turn. A footpath branched off from the gravel road. A round metal sign had been stuck in the ground at the fork in the road. It read. LAKE HURSTWOOD-SITE #7. Mr. Ridley thrust a hand into his pocket and gave the driver some change. The driver took it and pocketed it. He flicked the reigns, the horse clopped into motion and the wagon trundled off.   
Robert and Mr. Ridley walked down the short foot path that lead down to the cabin at the water’s edge. After a short walk, they emerged from under the trees, crossed the small clearing to next to the water and stopped in front of the cabin door. A key was hanging on a hook next to the door. Mr.Ridley took it down and inserted it into the door’s lock. He turned it and heard a solid sounding metallic clunk. The door swung open and they stepped inside. The cabin’s interior smelled faintly of wood smoke. A scrubbed pine table and four chairs stood in the middle of the space. A washstand stood in one corner under a small round mirror. A sink, a hand pump and a cistern stood on the other corner. There were two bunks on one wall and on the other was a stone fireplace. A pile of kindling sat on the floor next to the fireplace. A door way at the back framed a curtain, which lead to a small pantry. A chest of drawers stood under a window in a corner between the two bunk beds and the door.   
They went inside and Mr. Ridley shut the door behind them. The room was dimly lit and it took a minute or two for Robert’s eyes to adjust to the low light levels in the cabin’s one room. He shrugged off his backpack and let it fall to the floor with a thump. Mr Ridley was took off his backpack and set it in a corner. He picked up Robert’s and put it next to his own. He help Robert take off his jacket and hung it up on one of the hooks by the door. He took off his field jacket and hung it next to Robert’s. he rummaged through several pockets until he found what he was looking for and produced a box of matches. There was a kerosene lantern on the mantle over the fire place.  
He took it down, set it on the table and took off the shade and the slender glass shroud surrounding the V-shaped wick. He opened the box of matches, pulled one out and struck it. A bright orange flame sprang into existence and he held the burning match to the wick. After a second or two, the flame caught and a warm orange glow filled the cabin. Mr. Ridley took his pocket watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. It was 5:30 in the afternoon. “Are you hungry, Robert?” asked Mr. Ridley.  
Robert nodded. “Yes, Mr. Ridley,” he replied, “a little.”  
Mr. Ridley nodded in reply. “So am I,” he said. “I think perhaps we should unpack and then have something to eat. Would you like that?”  
“Yes please, Mr. Ridley,” said Robert.  
“Very well,” said Mr. Ridley, “you can start unpacking your things and I will help you in a moment.”   
Robert nodded and turned toward his backpack. He unbuckled the straps, pulled open the flap and peered inside. The contents of Robert’s backpack consisted of, among other things, extra clothes, including socks and underwear, sweaters, several flannel shirts, a sleeping bag, hiking boots, a small tackle box full of fish hooks and lures, as well as a swimming costume, a camp mess kit and assorted toiletries He began to pull his clothes out of his backpack and took them over to the chest of drawers in the corner by the door and paused. There were only three drawers. He wondered what he should do.   
Robert turned to Mr. Ridley, to ask him what he should do, but his tutor was gone. The muffled sounds of someone getting down a cast iron cook pot came from out of the pantry. Robert put his things down on top of his backpack. He walked around the table to the back of the cabin and poked his head through the curtained door way that separated the pantry from the rest of the cabin. It was a narrow space line with shelves on both sides. The only light came from a candle in slightly battered looking brass lantern that hung from the ceiling. Shelves lined both walls. On one side they held flour, butter, sugar, molasses and maple syrup. The shelves on the other side held simple looking cast iron pots and pans.   
Robert flushed slight in the flickering candlelight. “Umm…..Mr. Ridley?”  
Mr. Ridley paused in the act of taking down a cast iron cook pot from an upper shelf. “Yes, Robert,” he said, “is something the matter?”  
Robert flushed slightly, as if what he was asking was a great burden. “Can you help me put away my things?” he asked.  
“Oh,” replied Mr. Ridley, “of course.” He gestured to the curtained door and the room beyond. “Go into the other room and wait for me,” he replied. “I will help you momentarily.” Robert nodded, turned and went back into the cabin’s main room with a swish of the curtain. Mr. Ridley deposited two cans of vegetable soup and some beans into the iron cook pot with a series of solid sounding thunks. He rummaged through the larder and produced some butter and half a loaf of crusty bread, which joined the two cans of soup and the beans in the cook pot. He carried the whole load through the curtained doorway and back into the cabin’s main room. He deposited his armful of dinner things on the scrubbed pine table and walked over to where Robert was crouched over his backpack. His things were scattered around on the floor.   
“Here,” said Mr.Ridley gently, surveying the scene, “let me help you.” He crouched down next to his student. He sorted Robert’s clothes into three neat piles, socks, undershirts and underwear, shirts and trousers, and finally sweaters. He pulled open the bottom drawer and deposited the three piles next to each other. Robert closed the drawer and turned back to his backpack. While Robert unpacked the rest of his things, with occasional instructions from Mr. Ridley, “that can go on the shelf on the right,” or “give those to me and I’ll put them on the mantle over the fireplace, afterward.” He unbuckled the straps of his backpack and pulled open the flap. He quickly produced several neatly folded stacks of clothes and put them in the top two drawers of the dresser under the window. When he had finished, and hung his coat on one hooks on the other side of the door, Mr. Ridley turned back to his backpack. He rummaged through its contents again, this time producing a shaving kit, soap, a toothbrush and tooth powder. He set aside his camp mess kit and his hand closed on a long cylindrical object wrapped in soft cloth. He was suddenly aware that Robert had stopped what he was doing to watch him. “Would you like to help me unwrap this, Robert?” he asked.  
Robert was staring at the object wrapped in the cloth. His brow furrowed again, as if he was trying to peer through its wrappings and determine its purpose. He walked over to where his tutor was crouched on the floor. Mr.Ridley stood up. He cradled the mysterious object in his arms, as if it were made of glass. Mr. Ridley turned toward the table in the middle of the room. “Come over here, Robert.” He gestured encouragingly and put the bundle down on the table with a solid sounding thunk and a noise that sounded like the clink of glass. Robert turned and followed him. The chair scrapped loudly on the wood floor as Mr. Ridley pulled it out. Robert clambered up into the chair and sat down. He peered across the table at the object while Mr. Ridley walked around to the other side of the table. He pulled out the other chair and said sat. “Can you guess what this is, Robert?”  
Robert shook his head. “No, Mr. Ridley,” he replied, his curiosity evident. “What is it?”  
By way of an answer, Mr. Ridley untied several lengths of knotted string. He wound them into a tight coil and around his fingers and put them in his pocket. He took hold of the end of the cloth and pushed it aside. A long gleaming brass tube rolled out. The highly polished brass glowed in the light of the kerosene lamp. Robert let out a long, low “OOOOOOOO.” He was plainly transfixed by the instrument. Robert shook his head. “No, Mr. Ridley,” he replied. “What does it do?”  
Mr. Ridley turned back to his backpack and rummaged through its contents again. When he straightened up and returned to the table, he was carrying a folded set of collapsed legs and a small black box in his arms. “This is a telescope,” he said. He spread the telescope’s legs apart and set them upright on the floor. “A telescope lets you see things that are very far away,” replied Mr. Ridley. He picked up the shiny brass tube and set about attaching to the top of the tripod. He fitted it into the socket on top with a metallic click and inserted the pin. “A telescope is a kind of light bucket,” he explained. Mr. Ridley unscrewed the lens cap and set it on the table. He point at the large lens at the end of the telescope, which was pointed toward the ceiling. “The light comes in here,” he said, he lifted the lid of the little box on the table and picked something out of it. He set the eyepiece on the table. Robert reached for it. The glint of the eyepiece’s brass fittings were reflected in his eyes.  
Mr. Ridley handed it to him, and Robert took it. He turned it over in his small palms. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to divine how the eye piece worked. “What is it, Mr. Ridley?” he asked at last.  
“It’s the eye piece for my telescope,” replied Robert’s tutor.  
“How does it work?” asked Robert, cradling the eye piece in his hands.  
“It works the same way that the telescope works,” replied Mr. Ridley. “Light comes it one end and is focused by the lens.”  
Robert lifted the eyepiece to his right eye and peered through it. After a second or two, he lowered the eyepiece from his eye and frowned. “I don’t think it works,” he replied.  
Mr. Ridley chuckled, “of course it does,” he said, “it can’t help but work.” He reached and across the table and took the lens from Robert’s hand. He fitted into it to the end of the telescope and screwed it tightly into position. “You need two lens in order for the telescope to work,” continued Mr. Ridley.  
“What kinds of things can the telescope see?” as Robert.  
“Why don’t we look through the telescope after dinner and find out,” replied Mr. Ridley, “would you look that?”  
Robert nodded excitedly. “Oh yes, please!” he replied excitedly.   
Mr. Ridley chuckled. “Alright then,” he replied. He picked up the cast iron cook pot, emptied it of its contents and handed it to Robert, who took it from him. Mr. Ridley motion to the hand pump in the corner. “Go and put some water, in this,” he said, “and help get ready for supper.”


End file.
